Eternal Guardian
by Mistflyer1102
Summary: Only sixty years have passed since the conclusion of WWII, but it soon becomes clear that there are those who still wish to rewrite the world map. New yet familiar allies and foes return to the world stage in the newest battle for international stability.
1. War

**I**

**War**

* * *

><p><em>I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.<em>

Alfred F. Jones let himself slowly lean back in his seat as he silently reread President Roosevelt's words for the third time that night. "What happened after he finished?" he asked, looking up at the only other man in the apartment living room.

"Congress complied. The sovereign nations of Germany and Italy declared war on the United States only three days later, and so here we are a week later," said General Chester Phillips without looking up from the sheaf of papers in his hands.

Alfred looked back down at the written text before him. Even though he'd heard the radio broadcast the day after Pearl Harbor was destroyed, it had all felt surreal. Part of the reason it felt like a dream was probably because he'd been in extreme pain and grief in the days following Pearl Harbor as the people raged and mourned. _Everything_ had slipped past him in a dreamy sort of haze in those first couple of days.

But he could sense the mobilizations. Perhaps that was part of the reason behind his still-progressing recovery.

"I should have been there. When Roosevelt was speaking," he finally said, slumping in his seat.

Phillips sighed. "Son, when I arrived here several days ago to keep an eye on you on the president's behalf, you were bed-ridden and half-coherent." He set the papers down and glanced over at Alfred. "Roosevelt would have had my head on a silver platter if I arranged for your transportation to Washington D.C. in the state you were in," he said, walking over to where Alfred was sitting. "I don't know if you remember this, but the doctors said you were asking for 'England' at one point. One of the doctors joked that you couldn't have the country, but the answer seemed to set you off the wrong way. It wasn't until you started asking for someone named Arthur that we assumed you were asking for a friend of yours.

Alfred internally cringed in silent horror. _I hope Arthur never hears I said that. _ Yes, he'd been in great pain, but he hadn't realized that he'd been _that_ out of it. "Did…did I say anything else?"

Phillips shrugged. "Like I said, the doctors told me all of this, so if you're that curious, you can ask them. I don't think you said anything incriminating that could hurt the war effort, but even if you did the doctors know to keep their mouths shut. Unless one of the doctors that attended to you was a spy. Which of course means that he won't keep his mouth shut. But hopefully we won't have to worry about that," he said before walking back to the coffee table he'd been using as an impromptu desk since Alfred had the real one.

Alfred made a mental note to find and then talk to the doctors that had attended to him.

"When do we start heading overseas?" he asked, his mind already busy with plans for the necessary preparations.

"Well, the boys will start heading overseas once they are trained. The Allies are getting pounded out there, so it's fair that we get going as soon as we can. Thank God that Sergeant Barnes had the foresight to start training with the recruits at the time in '36," Phillips said, a shadow crossing his face at the thought of the late drill instructor. Shaking his head as though to remove the memories, Phillips said, "_You_ on the other hand will be spending time with me here in the States while you recover from your injuries. So in other words, there will be no battlefield antics until the army medical examiners give you the green light."

"What will we be doing in the meantime?" Alfred asked, biting back his frustration. General Phillips didn't know who Alfred really was. He didn't know that Alfred F. Jones was the personification of the United States of America, and would be back in top form in only a couple of days. As far as Phillips was concerned, Alfred was only another army officer in the army who had sustained physical injuries through an accident and would take weeks to recover from them.

Phillips grinned nastily as he held up a thick unmarked folder. "In the meantime, you and I will be working on a secret weapon that if successful, is going to win the war for us. Unfortunately, there a few details which still need to be hammered out before we go ahead with this crazy plan."

Alfred was interested now. "Details like what?"

"First off, we still need a guinea pig to test the project on…don't give me that look, it's not a gun or anything like that so we're not shooting anyone." Phillips looked annoyed at Alfred's shocked expression before he continued talking. "Second detail is that the officials in London want to be present for the test run, so they're sending a couple of their dignitaries over."

"Who are they sending?"

"Well, they're all in Washington D.C. right now finalizing the details of the alliance with President Roosevelt, and then they're coming up here for the demonstration. Sir Kirkland is the leader, if I understood the letter correctly." Phillips placed the papers down before studying another. "It's a small group of five though, so it won't be too crowded here."

Alfred remained silent for a moment, processing all of this. "So what kind of secret weapon is it that we need a test subject for?"

"You'll see. The project creator, Doctor Abraham Erskine, will arrive in Manhattan later tonight. Since he's the creator, he's got this set of qualifications in mind for the test subject candidates. All I'm here for is to make sure he gets what he wants." Phillips rolled his eyes in irritation. " Anyway, Erskine will be under the alias of 'Joseph Reinstein' when he arrives."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Why does he need an alias if the Nazis don't know about this little…project?"

"Doesn't hurt to be careful. The president doesn't want to take chances with this." Phillips pulled out a box from behind the coffee table. "But right now, you and I are walking to the recruitment station across the street to speak with the new recruits. We've got to show them that we haven't forgotten about them," he added before using a pocketknife to open the box and pull out the brown-papered package. He tossed it to Alfred, who caught it. "Your usual attire isn't going to cut it for today."

"What's wrong with what I usually wear?" Alfred asked, pulling aside the paper wrapping to find a formal dress uniform, one that was slightly different to the uniform he'd worn in the First World War.

"You mean other than the fact that it goes against regulations?"

Alfred replaced the wrapping and set the package back on the table next to Roosevelt's speech. "No. I'll wear what I want to wear," he said before pulling himself up. He gripped the table to steady himself before he left the small living room, careful to walk slowly to avoid jarring his healing injuries.

"I'm sure you will. Now stop being stubborn and put on the damn uniform," Phillips said without looking up.

For once, Alfred ignored him.

"You're going to fight me every step of the way, aren't you?" Phillips asked, sounding slightly grumpy when Alfred came slowly back into the room after changing into a white shirt and dark brown pants. "I honestly don't care how _comfortable_ you're trying to be right now, you'll only be in that uniform for not even an hour."

"With all due respect General Phillips, if the president did in fact send you to keep an eye on me, then he should have told you that I have selective listening when it comes to matters like this. Trust me on this one," Alfred said, quirking a small smile as he picked up his familiar leather bomber jacket and slipped it on. "If you want more proof, ask Kirkland when he gets here. You two can compare notes," he added, reaching for Texas while carefully concealing a grimace right as the wound on his shoulder protested the movement.

Phillips's eye twitched, but he didn't say anything.

The general let Alfred set the pace as the two men left the apartment and walked down the hall to the stairs. It was a quiet walk down the staircase to the lobby's level in the apartment complex; it was just the two of them and Phillips didn't appear as the chatty type to Alfred. The lobby receptionist looked up briefly in acknowledgement of their presences before returning to her work; she did not say anything to either of them as they walked past.

"Now remember, just a few words of encouragement and no promises that we can't keep. These men know full well that this is going to be the fight of their lives and we're not going to be helping if they know we're sugar-coating the truth," Phillips said. "Oh, and one more thing. Not a single word about the secret project to anyone. That little secret stays between us," he added as he pulled up his jacket collar against the cold winter air while the two of them walked across the street.

"Now I'm _really_ interested in this project," Alfred said, trying not to bristle at the reminder of how he should act around his own men; he knew full well how to work with the troops, seeing as he'd been leading them long before Phillips had ever been born.

"I told you. I'll tell you _later_." Phillips remained standing on the street until he felt that Alfred was far enough on the sidewalk to avoid getting wet with slush that cars kicked up from the street. Then he jogged to catch up with Alfred, who was waiting patiently by the door to the recruitment station. "Now, I don't usually do fanfare on these trips because I hope that the recruits are smart enough to recognize a rank insignia when they see one. Of course, it will be trickier with you because you blatantly _ignored_ me…" Phillips's words disappeared into a mutter as he reached forward and pulled the door open.

Alfred bit back a small smirk of satisfaction. The general was learning already.

When the two of the entered the main waiting room, no one paid them much attention at first. There was a general soft murmur of voices against the muted tap of the nurses' shoes as they walked amongst the candidates and the recruits. Some men were calm while others were slightly fidgeting in their seats. Anxiety, calm, and even anticipation were prominent in the atmosphere while there was an undercurrent of fear and doubt; Alfred may not have been good at sensing his fellow nations' moods at world meetings, but he was attuned to his people enough to sense them.

"Remember what I said," Phillips muttered before drifting off to the other side of the medical room, past the doctor who was approving or rejecting the applicants to where a drill sergeant was already speaking to two new recruits. As Alfred watched, the drill sergeant finally gestured for the two recruits to stand near their companions.

Instead of following Phillips, Alfred walked slowly down the middle of the room, blue eyes scanning the candidates. He felt a quiet pride for not only everyone in the room, but all those who had stepped forward when America needed them the most.

"Cohen, Isadore," the head physician said, and one of the candidates stood up and walked over. Alfred watched as words were exchanged and then Cohen walked over to the drill sergeant while the next recruit was called up for his examination results.

Then Alfred continued to walk over until he came up to the closest recruit, who had been watching the proceedings in silence. "Excuse me?" Alfred asked.

The kid jumped and looked up before snapping into a salute. Alfred felt a slight ache in his heart, one that wasn't new. The kid standing before him couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty years old; his life was ahead of him and he already had Death's shadow hovering over his shoulder. "Y-yes sir?" the recruit said, his nerves visibly skyrocketing.

"What is your name?" Alfred asked quietly.

"Th…Thomas Beckett sir. But my friends call me 'Tom'," Tom said, stumbling over his words and turning a slight pink in embarrassment.

"Alfred Jones," Alfred said, extending his hand. Tom relaxed slightly before accepting the handshake.

Somewhere in the background, the physician intoned, "Shaw, Robert."

Alfred asked, "Where are you from, Tom?" Curious blue eyes met nervous brown.

"Brooklyn, sir. Near the Williamsburg Bridge." Tom hesitated, and then said, "My parents and twin sisters are going to Albany to live with my aunt and uncle. Pearl Harbor rattled them badly, sir."

Alfred internally grimaced at the unintentional reminder. In another lifetime, he might have told this man that there was nothing to worry about, that the Atlantic protected the East Coast from any European threats.

Pearl Harbor changed everything.

A soft cough from the physician behind him. "Rogers, Steven."

Alfred placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. He couldn't promise the man anything, but that didn't mean he couldn't say anything else. "Thank you, for coming here," he said quietly so that only Tom could hear.

Alfred drifted to Tom's neighbor, an Italian-American who had been discussing different opera singers with his neighbor. Both men had plans to visit Vienna once the war was over, and the neighbor was planning to bring his girlfriend along too. "It will be the three of us against the world!" he said eagerly before the Italian-American distracted him with the name of another singer.

"McCallister, Oscar."

Alfred glanced back at the end of the line, but only saw Shaw next to Beckett. He briefly wondered what happened to Rogers before turning his attention back to the next man. This recruit was the son of a baker, and apparently had plans to visit Paris before the war broke out two years ago.

He continued down the line, speaking with various recruits before he casually glanced up at Phillips, just to see what the older man was doing. To his slight surprise, the general was talking to a scrawny and unhealthy-looking young man, and the general had the look of a cat about to pounce on the canary. However, before Alfred could turn to casually walk over and satisfy his piqued curiosity, the young man nodded and allowed two MPs to escort him away to the back of the building while Phillips resumed his best poker face.

_Now_ Alfred was curious.

"So, who was that?" he asked as he joined the general.

"No one. Go away," Phillips said curtly as he turned to the baffled drill sergeant.

"Whoa, hang on. I'm sorry for not listening to you this morning if that's why you're upset," Alfred said, adding in the sincerity into his tone; it worked on Arthur _every time_. Once Arthur thought that Alfred was sincerely apologetic, he usually caved and gave Alfred whatever information Alfred wanted.

Apparently Phillips didn't work that way. "Go away Jones, I'm in the middle of a conversation here."

"Uh-huh," Alfred said right as the drill sergeant turned to talk to one of his subordinates, evidently sensing the brewing storm and bailing as fast as he could. "C'mon Phillips, we're buddies now," he said, draping an arm around the general's shoulders, who stiffened. "I mean, it's not like your conversation is top secret or anything," he added, careful to add a very slight whine to his words.

"Who said it wasn't top secret?" Phillips asked through slightly clenched teeth as he pinched Alfred's sleeve between two fingers and removed the arm from his shoulders. "And we're not _buddies_, I have work to do and you have injuries to recover from. And do not touch me like that."

Sensing the general's dark mood, Alfred wisely backed off. "Does your conversation have anything to do with that thing we discussed this morning?" he asked.

The sour look on Phillips's face was enough of an answer. "Right, don't talk about it. Sorry." Alfred gave him a sheepish grin.

Phillips pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you go do me a favor and grab two coffees from the café next door?" he asked, pulling out and pressing some money into Alfred's hand. "You can order whatever you want."

"What do you want?"

Phillips sighed. "Surprise me."

Alfred nodded, offering the general a cheeky grin. He knew when someone was trying to get rid of him. So he'd do as Phillips suggested and surprise him. Before he could go though, Phillips added, "Take it easy Jones." The smile on the man's face was so quick that Alfred thought he missed it. Then, as though to throw Alfred for another loop, Phillips saluted before going back to the drill sergeant, who still looked nervous.

_Just a few more days. Then I can go overseas. _

A blast of sharp and cold December air to the face startled Alfred, who pulled his jacket tighter around himself. A light snowfall had started while Alfred was indoors, coating cars and the streets in a thin white blanket. All around him, bundled New Yorkers were hurrying along to their destinations, the air thick with fear and apprehension. Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the oncoming headache while nearly knocking his glasses off; the general mood of the nation was torn between determination and trepidation. Something was different about this war. Alfred could sense it; the people could sense it. It wasn't the war itself or its participants, it was something else, something beyond the obvious.

The question was, what about the war this time was different?

_Whump!_

Alfred was embarrassed to admit that he would not have realized that someone crashed into him if he hadn't heard the yelp of pain behind him. Startled, he turned around to find a young man was scrambling back to his feet, the streak of clean pavement behind young man betraying the fact that the man had slipped into him.

"Sorry…sorry…there was ice," the man said as he tried to scramble to his feet, only to succeed to slip on another hidden patch of ice. "Sorry sir, I didn't mean…"

"Hey, it's all right." Alfred extended a hand, and the man hesitated before accepting it. The stranger couldn't have been older than his early teens; he came up to Alfred's chest. It wasn't until that Alfred got a good look at him that he realized that it was the scrawny kid in the recruiting station that the MPs escorted away. "Say, you were inside, weren't you?"

The young man froze, but then slowly relaxed when he realized that Alfred wasn't mocking him. "Thought I would give it another chance sir, especially since we're going to war for real," he admitted, shrugging slightly. "But I remember you too. You came in with General Phillips."

"Yes I did, but I don't work for him or anything." Alfred offered his hand out. "Alfred F. Jones."

The man grinned and then took it. "Steve Rogers, sir."

"Hey, we're friends now. Friends aren't formal with each other," Alfred said, quirking a small smile.

Steve grinned despite himself. "I guess you're right si-, I mean, Alfred."

"C'mon, let's get out of the cold," Alfred suggested, nodding toward the coffee shop that Phillips had sent him to. Steve fell in step beside him, albeit with slight difficulty, and Alfred slowed down to match Steve's natural pace. "Do you want to see a doctor about your head? You know, when you fell?"

Steve shook his head. "I've received worse than a head bump over the years."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "How old are you?" he asked as he pulled the door open and held it to let Steve in first.

"Twenty-one, but I've been on my own since I was sixteen," Steve replied as Alfred followed him into the warm coffee shop. This was one of Alfred's favorite places in Manhattan, and the barista was a redhead who was used to Alfred's frequent visits; he could see her already preparing his usual order.

"Alfred…if you don't mind me asking, but had you served in the army before?" Steve asked as they approached the stools at the counter.

"Yes. Still do…just resting from an injury I sustained recently." Alfred felt an unforgiving twinge in his shoulder, reminding him that he was exerting himself more than he probably should be at the moment. He glanced at Steve as they sat down and asked, "I take it that was your first time in the recruiting station?"

Steve shrugged, looking faintly embarrassed. "That actually was my twelfth time." His small frame was now more visible in the café lighting; his thick coat seemed to hang off of him rather than actually fit. It was no secret as to why he kept receiving rejections despite his repeated attempts. His blond hair was still matted from the melting snow, and he seemed to be repressing slight shivers.

"Oh…wait. Your _twelfth_ time?" Alfred asked as the barista came over and placed his coffee in front of him.

"Yeah…just a small regular coffee…no sugar and a little cream," Steve said, momentarily distracted by the barista. Once she left with his order, he added, "I thought that since the United States responded to Germany's and Italy's declarations of war, we'd be in need of more soldiers…and that the recruiters wouldn't be picky this time around." He hesitated, and then added, "There are men laying down their lives over there, and I've got no right to do any less than them. All I need is a chance."

Alfred, for once, found himself at a loss for words. Then, after mentally gathering his bearings again, he asked quietly, "You're going to try again soon, aren't you?"

Steve hesitated, as though thinking quickly. "I'm just trying to do my part here, Alfred," he finally said, carefully choosing his words. He didn't quite meet Alfred's eye.

Alfred nodded quietly, choosing to let the matter drop. There were things still left unsaid between the two of them, such as the manner of Steve's next attempt or more importantly, what he and General Phillips had talked about earlier. Alfred knew better than to pry; people had a tendency to clam up and become defensive when the interrogator accidentally probed too close to a sensitive matter.

He figured he could wait until Phillips said something.

"Hey Jones," the barista said, catching his attention. She passed Steve's drink to him and said, "Was anyone expecting you again?"

_Oh shit._ "Yeah...why?"

The barista rolled her eyes. How many times did Jones walk into her coffee shop while on a mission or errand only to forget the original purpose of his visit? "That cranky man over there is giving me the evil eye. Took me a few minutes to realize he was glaring at _you_."

Both Steve and Alfred turned to see a grumpy Phillips standing outside the café, holding up a thick coat that had white stars on the shoulders; he must have gone back to the apartment to grab thicker clothing. Snow was already creating another thin blanket on his jacket as he mouthed, '_Don't make me come in there after you, I promise it won't be pretty.'_

All in all, to say that Phillips was an unhappy man would be an understatement.

"Hey listen," Alfred said, taking a napkin from a nearby dispenser before pulling out a dying pen from his pocket. "Stay in touch, all right?" he said, scribbling his address…or at least trying to. The napkin ripped, but the barista sighed before handing him a new pen and napkin.

"Of course. If it all works out, maybe we can spend time together when you go on leave," Steve suggested as he accepted the napkin.

"Sure! I bet we can find two girls too, make it a double date or something. I know, dancing!"

Steve laughed slightly at Alfred's enthusiasm. "I don't know about the dancing part, it's hard to find a girl who isn't worried about stepping on her partner."

"I'll figure something out, don't worry," Alfred said, standing up. He glanced at the barista with a slightly pleading expression, and he grinned when she nodded in acknowledgement. "Hey, don't worry about paying, my treat," he said while sliding the money over the counter, where it disappeared into the barista's apron pocket.

"All right, thank you."

"_JONES!"_

Both men jumped at Phillips's muffled yell. "Stay in touch," Alfred whispered before he turned and left for the café door.

The conversation he'd had with Steve was worth the lecture he received about not taking better care of himself and grabbing his coat from the apartment before going anywhere else, and then forgetting to bring Phillips his dose of caffeine. However, it wasn't until Alfred was back in his apartment and sitting down on the couch to listen to Phillips's secret plans that he realized something. The injuries from Pearl Harbor still hurt, but after seeing the recruits and talking to Steve, Alfred was beginning to cautiously hope again. There was slightly less pain now as compared to earlier in the day.

He failed his people once.

He vowed never to fail them again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm sure that Marvel fans are well aware of how notorious Marvel can be with its continuity. For the purposes of this story, I'm going on the assumption that Captain America didn't come around until _after_ Pearl Harbor (it's really not something to get fixated on, it's what I personally consider a minor detail for purposes of timekeeping. Same thing goes for the ficlet series that accompanies this). This story, as well as its spinoffs, will be combining comics and cinematic elements. Anyway, the Avengers and all related media belong to Marvel. Hetalia Axis Powers and all related material belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. Finally, the opening sentence belongs to President Franklin D. Roosevelt, since it was taken directly from his Infamy Speech, given on Dec. 7th, 1941.**

**As a heads-up, the story will be heading into the twenty-first century in the next chapter.**


	2. 2006

**II**

**2006**

* * *

><p>Dark green spread out before the black stealth fighter as it soared silently high above the trees, which were slowly turning as dark as its namesake as the sun slipped below the horizon. The Black Forest was rumored to contain the stuff of nightmares and magical legends, which made it the perfect hiding place for enemies. The fighter was careful to stay just outside the estimated firing range as it completed the last round of thermal scans and radar sweeps. Finally done with its mission, the aircraft banked to the right to start its long journey back to its home airfield in London.<p>

Inside the cockpit, the pilot reviewed his flight path and gained significant altitude from the Black Forest before activating his radio. "Hawk One to Control, over."

"_We read you loud and clear, One. Status report?"_

"Mission completed. There was a notable decrease of recordable activity over the three hours of observation. I think they know that we know that they're there. If the boss wants to do something about it, he should move soon," the pilot reported, the thought of an irate Nick Fury in his mind. Yes, he was glad he wasn't reporting this in. He felt bad for the sucker who would get stuck with _that_ job.

"_Director Fury will be informed immediately. Return to base and prepare the information for trans-Atlantic transport."_

"Can't you just beam it to the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier or something?"

"_Negative. Helicarrier received substantial damage recently due to attempted prisoner breakout, and has been grounded in Washington for repairs._"

The pilot released a breath through his teeth. Now he was _very_ glad he wasn't reporting this incident to the director.

Around an hour and a half later, the S.H.I.E.L.D. fighter came to a smooth landing on the tarmac that led straight to the S.H.I.E.L.D. outpost on the outskirts of London. After the fighter had been maneuvered back into line with the others and the engines had died, the pilot carefully downloaded all of the data he'd collected that afternoon onto a small data chip. Then he wiped the computer's memory clean, erasing all traces of the aircraft's trip and mission.

As though it had never happened in the first place.

The pilot didn't have to walk very far from the fighter; his supervisor was waiting for him on the tarmac near the base entrance. "Where is it?" the supervisor, Captain Lawson, asked when the pilot jogged over. "Were there any problems?"

"No sir. Here it is," the pilot said, offering the data chip to Lawson. "Trust me sir, when I say that Fury isn't going to be pleased when he sees this. Before they decreased any recordable activity, there were some strange energy fluctuations. My instruments acted up a for a few minutes until I had to pull up for more altitude to get everything back to normal." He gestured to the device and said, "Scanners got it all down."

"Good work." Lawson examined the chip before tucking it into a small plastic case. He glanced past the pilot to the small passenger plane that was being taxied out onto the tarmac from the hangars. "Listen, you may have heard that the helicarrier is offline right now. Fury moved the center of S.H.I.E.L.D. command to the temporary Manhattan address. That's notoriously unreliable with encrypted communications because it's a solid landline that others can easily tap into. This will have to be hand-delivered…" Lawson explained, his voice trailing off as he regarded the small passenger aircraft with a thought. Perhaps he could ask the V.I.P. onboard to deliver it, Fury seemed to trust the man enough, and Lawson knew that despite the man's gruff nature, there was a chance he would agree…

No, Lawson wasn't _that_ desperate. Yet.

"Question…" Lawson began slowly. When he was sure he had the pilot's attention, he asked, "Do you think your fighter could make it to New York City from here, specifically Suffolk County Air Base?"

The pilot shook his head. "No, sir. Flying between England and the Continent is one thing. Flying across the Atlantic Ocean is something completely different. You'd need a bigger fuel tank for starters, a more powerful engine, stuff like that. Sorry," the pilot said apologetically.

Lawson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. This was going to be a tricky venture, especially when considering last week's Tea Incident. Lawson silently asked the Lord to give him the strength to get through the next five minutes without a fight. "All right then, let me go see if Sir Kirkland is going to be in a good enough mood to help us out here a little," he said, looking back at the plane as the crew finished the final preparations before flight.

The pilot snorted. "With all due respect sir, _good luck_ with that. He's going to be on a plane for the next five to six hours _overnight_ before dealing with a bunch of other politicians for the next six days. You have a snowball's chance in hell of catching him in a 'good enough mood'." Before Lawson could admonish him for his choice of vocabulary, the pilot continued. "Then again, there's still the apparently unforgivable Tea Incident, and I think he still remembers that."

Oh, Lawson didn't doubt that Kirkland had forgotten about _that_ yet. "Didn't we apologize profusely for the delivery mix-up and that we would take steps to make sure it wouldn't happen again?"

"Yes, but it wasn't a mix-up. The box was specifically addressed to him," the pilot pointed out. "You know, I think Pierre in Communications knows something about it, he won't tell any of us but he thinks he knows who did it..."

"I'll talk to him later. I'm going to speak with Sir Kirkland first. Don't breathe a word of what you found to anyone else, do you understand?"

The pilot nodded, saluted, and then walked back into the base.

Lawson squared his shoulders and began walking over to where an unmarked vehicle had pulled up to the tarmac. Everyone at the S.H.I.E.L.D. base knew that out of all the present staff, Sir Kirkland had the highest level of tolerance for Captain Robert Lawson…and that wasn't very high to begin with. There was no open hostility between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Kirkland, but Lawson had learned quickly that it was always a hit-or-miss situation when speaking with Kirkland. The Tea Incident was definitely a messy miss, but Lawson was hoping that Kirkland would work with them this one time. S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't bothered him very much recently…

He came to a stop at a slight distance from the vehicle as the back door opened, a familiar irritated voice drifting out and becoming louder when Kirkland himself got out. Lawson didn't twitch when Kirkland continued to talk quietly to himself, clearly on the losing side of an argument; Lawson had accepted long ago that it was just one of the man's quirks. "Sir Kirkland? A moment before you leave for the States?" he asked, hoping that since the man was acting normal again (well, normal for him anyway), the Tea Incident was forgotten and forgiven.

Kirkland came to a dead stop when he saw Lawson, and then he glanced suspiciously at the sealed data chip. "That's not going to do anything, is it?" he demanded, green eyes narrowing at the offending chip.

Lawson swallowed. "No, I promise it won't, sir," he replied patiently. "I was actually wondering if you could do me a small favor?"

Kirkland glanced back at one of his two pilots, and the other man nodded as though confirming that he would wait for Kirkland. "Is this favor going to be an explanation as to why you refused to let me leave from Heathrow?" Kirkland finally asked,

"That was for security purposes, considering there has been recent reports of terrorist activities. Director Fury asked that we do not take chances with your security, sir," Lawson explained. "As for the small favor, I was hoping that you could deliver this data chip," he held up the chip in question, "to your friend Mr. Jones and ask him to give it to Director Fury?"

"What is on that?"

"Hopefully the key to preventing World War Three." Lawson's expression remained grim.

Kirkland frowned, but nodded and accepted the data chip. "I'll make sure he gets it…and that the git gives it to Fury," he said, the data chip disappearing into the folds of his green jacket.

Lawson smiled. "Thank you sir. Have a nice flight."

"Humph, I'll try," Kirkland said gruffly, his words disappearing into a mutter as he turned and walked toward the waiting plane.

* * *

><p>The 'git' in question was across the Atlantic Ocean in the territory known as Washington D.C., specifically in the living room of the White House at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. As the April rain pattered against bulletproof windows, Alfred F. Jones watched carefully while as Maddie, one of the president's six-year old daughters scrunched her face up in serious contemplation of her next move. Her twin, Minnie, was perched on their mother's lap while the First Lady watched the television. The third child of the family, twelve-month old Jamie, was sitting in Alfred's lap, too absorbed in the current game to squirm.<p>

"Okay Jamie, it's your turn!" Maddie said, leaning back so she could see her little brother around the yellow Connect Four grid. She grinned when Jamie looked panicked for a second before he twisted around to look pleadingly up at Alfred, as though seeking advice. Alfred pretended to tilt his head in confusion as though he couldn't understand what Jamie wanted.

"Awawawa…" Each syllable was punctuated with a light whack from a little fist against Alfred's knee while the child looked up expectantly at Alfred.

"All right little guy, it's our turn." Alfred took the red chip from an enthusiastic Maddie and gave it to Jamie. Then, placing his hands around Jamie's middle, he carefully balanced the child on unsteady little legs so Jamie could place the chip in its slot. Then Jamie let his legs give way in his way of saying 'Okay, I'm done so you can let me sit back down again'. Alfred had just settled Jamie down again when there was a soft knock on the door. Alfred looked up to see one of the White House staff members open the door and stand uneasily in the doorway.

"Is everything all right?" the First Lady asked, turning around after muting the television. Minnie slipped off her mother's lap as the woman stood up.

"Yes ma'am. The president just wants to see Mr. Jones about tomorrow, that's all," the staff member explained, looking apologetic as Maddie stood up in protest.

"Okay, just give me a sec." Alfred gingerly stood up, careful to keep Jamie secure in his arms before passing the child to the First Lady.

"But Alfred! You never come here unless Daddy wants you and you're never in the city or stop to say hi or…" Maddie's rant was cut off when her mother pulled her back with one hand.

"Hey, I'll come back once I find out what Daddy wants, 'kay?" Alfred offered, kneeling to Maddie's level.

"But…but…but…"

"Sorry Alfred," the First Lady cut in. "Madeleine, Alfred has to help Daddy right now, understand?" Her tone left no room for argument.

Catching Maddie's eye, Alfred said, "I'll come back, don't worry. Daddy just wants to talk to me right now, I don't think he'll be sending me anywhere right now."

Maddie finally nodded albeit reluctantly. Alfred stood up and left the room.

The staffer didn't fully relax until the door was shut. "Kudos to you for diffusing that, sir," he said as he joined Alfred. "The girls are as opposite as night and day, and that is…problematic sometimes."

"Sounds like Matthew and me. Except not in the way Maddie and Minnie are, he's quiet and I'm not. We still caused trouble when we were little though." Alfred glanced over at the young staffer and then realized that he hadn't seen this one around very much. "New here?"

"Yes sir, started three days ago."

Aha. That would explain why the jokers in the senior staff hadn't sent this poor rookie after him in a wild goose chase all over D.C. yet. Alfred made a mental note to speak to the head of the White House staff about remedying this. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Lewis Carlson, sir." The staffer smiled before pushing the door open into the president's personal secretary's office. Lewis nodded at the woman, who merely raised an eyebrow when she saw Alfred. "Mr. Jones is here to see the president," he said.

"Very well. Sit down Mr. Jones," she said before reaching for her phone and dialing the Oval Office.

Lewis glanced at Alfred. "Good luck," he muttered before leaving.

"Thanks! Good luck with the new job," Alfred said cheerfully. Lewis smiled briefly before leaving the room.

"Mr. Jones? The president will see you now." She hesitated as Alfred stood up before warned, "Be careful, he's been in a mood all morning."

Alfred swallowed. "Yes ma'am." He maintained a grin while walking the rest of the way into the Oval Office, the door closing behind him.

It never ceased to interest him how the Oval Office changed between administrations. Obviously some of the decorations that remained the same for the most part were the painting of George Washington, the potted ivy and the tall clock. But there were still the small differences too, such as some of the furniture (Alfred had seen that change several times in his life), or the model airplane collection that had taken up residence on one of the bookshelves.

"Mr. Jones, please sit down."

And the man behind the desk always changed with the administration.

Alfred obligingly sat down in the nearest of two chairs. For a few minutes, neither man said anything. Before Alfred could speak up and ask as to why the president wanted to see him, (after all, Alfred did have a schedule to keep, and that included packing for his trip to Manhattan tomorrow), there was a soft knocking on the office doors.

The president then leaned forward and picked up the phone a second after it started ringing, and then pressed a small button on the bottom of the base. Curious, Alfred turned around to see the newcomer.

He was out of his seat two seconds later when he recognized the F.B.I. agent that walked in. "Jess!" he said, bounding toward her in excitement.

Jessica 'Jess' Norwood had all of five seconds to brace herself for safety's sake right before Alfred pulled her into a hug. "Jess! How have you been?" he asked, steadying the two of them as he'd almost knocked her off her feet.

"Mph…it's good to see you too Alfred…Alfred, I can't breathe…" Despite nearly being toppled Jess was smiling when Alfred sheepishly loosened his grip before pulling away. She looked well rested, not completely worn out like she'd been when Alfred last saw her. "It's good to see you again," she said before arching an eyebrow. "Staying out of trouble I hope?"

Alfred straightened to affirm her statement but didn't get a chance to answer.

"Actually, he got caught hacking into the F.B.I. networks the other day. Ruffled a few bureaucratic feathers," the president said without looking up from the documents on his desk.

Jess's mouth dropped open. "What on earth were you doing hacking into the F.B.I. networks?" she said.

Alfred shrugged. "I just wanted to figure out where you went," he said right as the president cleared his throat.

"Agent Norwood, Mr. Jones, please sit down. I'm sure you both are going to be busy this evening packing for tomorrow's trip, so I'd like to make this meeting as quick as possible," the president said, rubbing his forehead. He gestured to the two seats in front of him, and they sat down, Jess giving Alfred a 'Don't-think-the-conversation-about-the-hacking-is-over' look. Turning back to the president, her face was once again expressionless.

"So what's up? You've never called me before a World Conference," Alfred said carefully, noticing the tension in the president's shoulders. In his experience with numerous bosses, Alfred knew that the man was about to tell him something that was probably going to be ill news.

The president sighed. "Alfred, I'm not going to mince words here. I take it that you are familiar with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director, Nicholas Fury?"

Alfred nodded. He'd lost track of the amount of ups and downs the two of them had experienced over the years…come to think of it, he couldn't remember if Fury was still mad at him for something or another.

"I've heard of him, but I've never actually met him," Jess said finally.

"Well, if Alfred obeys my request, then you won't actually have to." The president exhaled and said, "But let me start at the beginning. Fury is a little too trigger-happy for the United Nation's comfort and unfortunately possesses enough material and, uh, _personnel_ to pull even the craziest missions off." Rubbing the bridge of his nose, the president added, "There's no denying that I respect the man, he's done a lot for the United States and the rest of the world, but he's a little unpredictable."

"Does he know about the nation personifications?" Jess asked, brows furrowing slightly as she leaned forward a bit in her seat.

The president grimaced at the memory. "Well, obviously I wasn't in office at the time, but the senior members of the staff still talk about it today. Apparently, Fury discovered the personifications in the 1990s…apparently a certain trio were conducting a 'Reunion Tour' after the Iron Curtain fell. This 'tour' caused a ruckus all across Europe, and the United Nations as well as a few nations themselves placed pressure on Fury to put a stop to it."

Alfred grinned. "Fury said it was the best hunt he ever did once he figured out that Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert were nations. I thought the final capture was the best show I'd ever seen in London," he said. His smile faded for a moment. "Except Fury gave me the cold shoulder after that for ten months or so… just because we'd worked together during World War Two and I didn't tell him that I couldn't die."

This time it was the president who was curious. "Why ten months?"

"Because he had to talk to me about something or other that involved crashing through the Southwest." Alfred tried not to fidget as he pointedly stared at the president's desk.

The president nodded slowly before leaning forward. "Now listen, both of you. Jones, this is will be the first time you've been in New York in a while, and I'm going to ask that you both do me a little favor…"

Outside in the hall, Lewis paused to peek into the President's Outer Office. When he realized that Alfred was no longer inside, he swallowed his nerves and walked resolutely to the kitchen to complete his original task by dropping off the tray in the kitchen.

Then he had more tasks to complete.

* * *

><p>"Sir?"<p>

S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nicholas Fury turned around to see an intern approaching with a small phone. Fury was standing in his private command center in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ground headquarters in Manhattan. His longtime friend and comrade, Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan was standing nearby with a portfolio in hand.

"I though I asked for privacy," Fury said in a cold tone, his brow furrowing at the sight of the intern.

The intern swallowed before holding the phone out. "The recognition code is Charlie-Romeo-November dash 107," the man stammered, his hand shaking as Fury straightened at the mention of the code.

Dugan rolled his eyes behind Fury's back as the director took the phone from the quivering intern. "Dismissed," Fury said before placing the phone to his ear. Dugan leaned slightly to watch the intern depart and tried to calculate the man's speed while Fury silently listened to the man on the other end of the line. Then, as the director finally hung up, Dugan set the portfolio down on the table that dominated the center of the room.

"You've got to stop scaring the kids like that Fury, they'll make us look bad on their resumes when they apply for other jobs after quitting this one," Dugan remarked as Fury picked up one of the handheld electronics.

"They should all know by now that I'm not the scariest thing out there." Fury tapped something on the device screen, and frowned. "Agent Sitwell has finished the secondary sweep of the United Nations headquarters. Turns out that not only is the building on the verge of collapse, but the Green Goblin tried to gas Spider-Man in there."

Dugan frowned. "Wasn't the World Council supposed to meet there tomorrow morning?"

"Already on it. I sent an email an hour ago to Mr. Jones telling him that he needed to switch locations because of a weak infrastructure in the U.N. headquarters. I suggested that he use the Plaza Hotel, the manager there is used to VIPs visiting and holding meetings there. Not the most secure spot in the city, but hopefully the meetings won't run late." Fury set the device down to look up at the large holographic maps hovering in the air above the two men.

"Dare I ask who was on the phone?"

Fury smirked as he glanced at Dugan. "Agent 107 from the White House."

Dugan didn't look surprised. "How the hell did we get a spook in the White House?"

"Easy. I hired him first, and then his father secured him a position in the kitchens. I pulled an agent out of retirement to teach 107 on the job. 107 was just calling about a slightly unusual development that just happened," Fury said as he punched in a series of commands into the control panel, and the maps began changing. "Any idea where the Goblin went off too after ditching Spider-Man?"

"He ran into a S.H.I.E.L.D. squad in Brooklyn. He's the last of the escaped villains from the Big House; Doctor Pym already did the headcount and the Avengers are up to their own devices now."

"Remind me to tell Spider-Man to take his fights somewhere else next time. First the breakout, then the destruction of the United Nations headquarters."

"Of course." Dugan pulled Sitwell's initial report out of the portfolio to scan over. "Sitwell says it'll take a week to clear the building of the gas, and then fix it. The Council will have to use the hotel for the entire time."

"All right then. Please call the New York Police Department and give them a heads-up. Just tell them to be on their guard for the week, I don't want a repeat of Seattle." Fury took Sitwell's report from Dugan and skimmed it over before setting it down. "Is the roster for the meeting in that folder? I want to know if Beilschmidt is coming or not."

Dugan picked the electronic device. "Which one?" he asked in a casual tone, fighting back a smirk.

Fury growled; he knew that Dugan knew which brother he was talking about. "The one that pisses me off the most," Fury said crossly as the maps finally settled on their new images.

"Why should I bother?" Dugan said, tossing the device back onto the table. "We both know full well he'll do what he damn wants to do. And we _did_ ask Ludwig to bring him along to the next meeting so we didn't have a repeat of Prague two years ago."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. "What aggravates me the most right now is that he _knows_ that I want to arrest him. And he _knows_ that the United Nations forbade me from arresting _any_ of the trio again." Then he switched the displays from maps to satellite images. The feed was a little shakier here than it was with the helicarrier, but some things couldn't be helped. "Remember, when Jones comes here, keep you-know-who under wraps for now," he said, glancing at the image of Washington D.C.

"Jones isn't going to like that. They were best friends in World War Two."

Fury let out an impatient sigh. "Our guest is here under S.H.I.E.L.D. jurisdiction, not American. Jones will just have to suck it up." Straightening to his full height, Fury glanced at his watch and the scowled. "I'm going to check on the status of the projects I left under Hill's watch. Try not to let the world fall apart in the twenty minutes that I'm gone."

"Of course sir." Dugan watched Fury leave the private command center before he turned back to the maps. Fury had turned off the usual multitude of maps earlier to leave just five up and active.

The first one was of the Avengers, tracking each member's progress as the team slowly dispersed from Avengers Mansion. After corralling the villains after the breakout, Fury had asked that the Avengers _try_ to stay in New York City on their off time. The only three missing were Stark, the Hulk, and the newest addition to the Avengers.

The second map tracked the Hulk. An old one from the days when S.H.I.E.L.D. had been hunting the Hulk down, Fury never took it down because the doctors never got around to removing the tracker from Banner's skin. As of right now though, the giant green creature was trekking north through the Canadian wilderness to its retreat in Alaska. Oddly enough, the next display, which had Wolverine's movements, showed the same terrain as the Hulk's. Dugan suspected that Logan had either been deliberately out for a fight or just had the misfortune of crossing paths with the Hulk.

The fourth monitor showed Richmond, Virginia, specifically a residential area. Dugan knew exactly why the person in question was in that area, and knew full well that he was not going to find who he was looking for; he had come back two years too late. According to his S.H.I.E.L.D. escorts however, he would be heading north soon.

The final monitor kept track of Alfred F. Jones. Fury wasn't doubtful of his country's ability to take care of himself; it just gave Fury a peace of mind. That monitor however was kept off frequently; it was only turned on when Fury knew that Alfred would be out and about soon.

Dugan still remembered when Fury told him and the other Commandos about the nation personifications, just so that the team was aware of the true stakes when it came to protecting the borders of the United States. But outside of Fury and the Howling Commandos, no one else in S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about the nation personifications.

_CRASH!_

Dugan grimaced when he heard one of the newer agents, Agent 27, babbling apologies to a furious Maria Hill, Fury's unpredictable but efficient second-in-command.

Best to diffuse _that_ one before Fury returned while looking for Hill.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The Bad Touch Trio's 'Reunion Tour' will be covered in the second spin-off for this story. Huge thanks to Life on Vega for her help with this chapter :). The character of Jessica 'Jess' Norwood is an original character that belongs to Life on Vega and is used with her permission in this fanfic.**

**ALSO, there is a Hetalia March Madness starting soon! Keep your eyes peeled for the introductory chapter! **


	3. Mistake

**III**

**Mistake**

* * *

><p>"…<em>and it's the bottom of the ninth with two outs. The Red Sox have one man on second base, but the batter is going to need a home run in order to win. Current score is Yankees: 10, Red Sox 9. Anticipation at Fenway Park is extremely high for the first game between the rivals this spring, and it's been a pretty intense game so far. Sox have their heavy hitter up to bat, so this could end badly for us. Hang on…here's the pitch… and there it goes! Is he going to make it? Runner coming around third, batter coming up at second…"<em>

_Click._

"NO!" Alfred howled the second the announcer's voice disappeared. The car jerked ever so slightly when Jess jumped at Alfred's shout, but she didn't actually calm down until she'd slowed the rental car down at a traffic light.

"What was _that_ about?" she asked, annoyed and perplexed at the same time. She glanced over to find Alfred crouched down and staring at the radio as though it was his only lifeline. "Alfred?"

"T…the game! Red Sox versus the New York Yankees! First game!" Alfred gestured pleadingly at the radio as though he expected Jess to interpret his motions into understandable words. "The gaaaaame," he finally said, resting his head against the dashboard.

Technically, there was nothing holding him back from just switching the channel again. Maybe it had something to do with Jess's frayed nerves from the personal-bubble-invading members of the airline staff earlier that morning, and she still wasn't in the best of moods. "I just wanted to check the Detroit scores, you can have the radio back once it goes back to commercials," Jess said, focusing back on the road.

Alfred thought about head-smacking the dashboard to demonstrate his frustration, but decided not to, just because for one, his head would still be hurting when the meeting started and two, the act itself was nowhere nearly as satisfying when there was no car horn to hit. Instead, he straightened in his seat and tried not to fidget as the two announcers playfully bickered over Detroit player statistics, the team newcomers, and the change in management. Somewhere, in his agonizing wait, the light turned green again. The once-soothing movement of the car did nothing to ease the coils inside his muscles as he waited for that damn commercial break…

_Now._

Jess was prepared this time for Alfred's lunge for the radio, but the car still rocked dangerously from Alfred's momentum. Ignoring Jess's reprimands and the reminder that they were using a _rental_, Alfred managed to switch back to the desired station in time to hear the announcer say, "…_and I still can't get over how close that game was. Well, there you go folks. And now a word from our sponsor."_

"Hey! Who won?" Alfred said with his eyes still glued to the radio.

"Alfred, please sit back in your seat so that your seatbelt can actually help you in case we get into an accident. Which is likely, considering that half of the people here drive like maniacs and super-beings make up a good chunk of the _Manhattan_ population alone…"

"Hey, don't knock them if you haven't met them," Alfred protested as he sat back in his seat.

"I wasn't. I was just trying to make a point about why it's a good idea to sit back." Jess paused for a moment. "Have you met all of them yet?"

Alfred shook his head. "Some of them don't want to be found, so I respect that. They usually come out during emergencies anyway, and I know better than to interfere."

He fell silent as Jess finally pulled into the familiar parking garage, his thoughts drifting back to the nineteen forties. Steve Rogers had been one of those individuals who made an effort to keep his civilian identity concealed to all except his close friends and select members of the American command staff. Somehow, Steve even managed to pick up Matthew's talent for abruptly disappearing, especially when the media got involved. The team found that amusing because while Steve Rogers disliked the sheer publicity, Captain America was an eloquent public speaker.

"Alfred?"

Jess's voice pulled Alfred back to the present. "Hm?" He gave her his patented 'I'm-okay-don't-worry-about-me' expression. Usually only Arthur was the only one who could sift through the facial expressions and easily picked out the faked ones, but Alfred had been getting some exceptionally sharp-eyed handlers recently. Someone in the administration finally wised up to the fact that Alfred couldn't get into much trouble if his handlers were keeping an eye on him, and added that to the list of handler prerequisites.

Jess only accepted his answer with a slight frown before getting out of the car, Alfred close behind.

"Now remember," she said as they walked down a flight of stairs to street level. "If you decide to go anywhere other than the restaurant inside the building for lunch, at least let me know where you're going and with whom, just in case." She paused long enough to push on a pair of sunglasses before stepping out into the morning sun. "And one more thing. I received a call from the president before we left Washington D.C, and he asked me to remind you to play nice with Braginski for these meetings. Apparently, there's been a diplomatic misunderstanding involving Russia, the United States, and S.H.I.E.L.D. over who had dibs on a piece of valuable wreckage from World War Two. S.H.I.E.L.D. won though."

"Be nice to Braginski, got it." Alfred mentally added: _I'll try._

"Well, well, _well_. Look at what the cat finally dragged in," a voice suddenly cut in, startling both Jess and Alfred.

Alfred looked up in alarm, but that faded when he recognized the man standing at the top of the staircase. Jasper Sitwell, one of Director Fury's numerous assistants, spread his hands out as Alfred and Jess walked up the stairs to join him. Sitwell was dressed in civilian clothing, but the holster at his side said something different about his status. "It's been, what, five years since we last saw each other?" he asked, taking note of Jess at Alfred's side and the formal attire on them both. "You never write, you never call…"

Alfred grinned sheepishly before clasping Sitwell's gloved hand. "Well, you know, duty calls," Alfred said.

Sitwell snorted as Jess joined the two men. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this is the part of the conversation where I'm supposed to say I'd prefer your job over mine, but I can't because at least I'm not stuck behind a desk all day."

"Hey, just because I'm not on the field with you guys all the time doesn't mean I'm constantly behind a desk," Alfred pointed out.

Sitwell opened his mouth but his witty comeback disappeared in the slew of cursing nearby. Sitwell cringed and said, "Don't mind him…he's just been having a bad morning." The three watched the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in question yell at another agent before storming off. "Then again," Sitwell said slowly, "We've all been having a rough morning. Alfred, you have an, ah, interesting set of colleagues."

"Oh, trust me, I know," Alfred said, grinning. He couldn't remember off the top of his head if Sitwell was in on the nation-personification secret or not; a number of Fury's best were. Just to err on the side of caution however, Alfred casually reached up as though to scratch the back of his head while laughing with Sitwell. He signed '_No_' to Jess before letting his hand relax at his side again.

"Well Sitwell, it was nice talking to you again. We should definitely catch up some more later," Alfred finally said before he started walking toward the front entrance.

"You can't. Go in, I mean," Sitwell said, suddenly moving in Alfred's way.

"What do you mean by that?" There was a faint warning in Jess's voice.

Sitwell met her gaze and said, "The building is currently closed because there are structural weaknesses that are still under review and will be corrected throughout this week…" Sitwell's voice trailed off when he realized that he was getting confusion from Alfred and annoyance from Jess.

"Why weren't we informed of this development?" Jess asked, her tone of strained patience holding steady.

Sitwell frowned before glancing at Alfred. "Didn't you get Director Fury's email explaining the situation? The one he sent yesterday afternoon? He suggested other meeting locations…"

Alfred frowned. "I didn't get any-"

"Did you even _check_?" Jess asked, her voice soft in warning.

"Hang on, I'll do that right now." Alfred started fishing around in his pockets for his Blackberry.

Jess turned back to Sitwell. "Are we the first group to arrive and try to get inside?"

Sitwell shook his head. "We, my teammates and I, have been turning people away all morning. First to arrive, at seven-thirty, was a pair of Germans, brothers I think. The group right before you was a Finn and a Swede, I had to point them in the direction that an English kid went after trying to sneak inside during the middle of the rush," he explained, shrugging.

"Is the kid the one who tried to get in on the claim that he was representing the nation of Sealand?" Another S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, this one in the traditional dark blue and white field uniform, ambled over to the three of them. He paused, and then asked, "Did we ever determine if Sealand was a real nation or not?"

"Yes to the first question, no to the second. Just don't remind Sergeant Rushman, I don't want to start _that_ fight again."

The other agent nodded. "Especially since I don't think the Frenchman will be back to give Rushman something else to complain about," he said. He sighed and said, "I have to go back to patrolling, that Dane from earlier ambushed the two back-door guards because he thought we were lying to him. Other side is basically unprotected right now until we get the promised reinforcements," the agent added before readjusting his rifle and walking off again.

Jess turned back to Alfred. "Find the email yet?"

"Almost…aha! Here it is…oh…" Alfred's face fell at first, but then returned to one of sheepishness. "Well, what do you know? He emailed me while I was playing with the president's kids. I guess I was too busy packing though to check later…"

"Alfred, we both know that you only packed a carry-on because you were going to stay in your New York apartment. It could not have taken _that_ long. You still would have had time to check your email before we left," Jess said before turning back to Sitwell. "Where did the other dignitaries go?" she asked, trying to keep the panic from her voice. There was no telling what was going to happen if the other personifications were lost…

"Ma'am, I received orders last night to make sure _no one_ entered this building until S.H.I.E.L.D. experts gave the green light. That being said, I risked life and limb turning people away. You wouldn't believe half of the weapons some of them brought…" his voice trailed off as he unconsciously raised a hand to shield his head.

As though to shield himself from a lead pipe.

Jess facepalmed her forehead.

Sitwell looked apologetic. "I truly am sorry that I can't help you. We've all had a rough morning with the folks coming in. Sergeant Rushman, he had a ten minute argument with the English kid over whether Sealand was a country or not. Then he argued with _us_ about whether Sealand was a colony or a territory before this Frenchman tried to, er, get Rushman's attention in an inappropriate manner. And that's just the tip of the iceberg." He sighed. "But the bottom line is no, I do not know where the dignitaries went…there were other pressing matters."

Alfred frowned thoughtfully. "And when you take into consideration that I'm always the last one to arrive…" He gulped and snuck a side-glance at Jess. "You don't think…"

"Alfred." Jess took a few deep breaths, trying and failing to keep down the growing panic and the inevitable frustration. "It's New York City. _Of course_ I think that." She pinched the bridge of her nose before turning to Alfred. "The nations are _lost in New York City_. _Lost,"_ she hissed, keeping her voice down.

"Well, Artie knows his way around a bit and-"

"Where there is a _superhero population_…"

"Okay, okay, so we might have to go find the others-"

"No. We _will_ find the others." Jess started reaching for her phone. "I'm going to call the president first to let him kn-"

"_Or_, we could stop by S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, pay Fury a visit and ask him to help out," Alfred said, gingerly pulling Jess aside. Sitwell seemed to take the hint and moved off to resume his patrol. Alfred continued speaking again, but with a lower voice. "As I was saying, we ask Fury to help us and the president won't find out until you submit your debriefing report. But he'll be happy instead of mad because we took care of this tiny little problem in a mature manner!"

"Alfred, I've known you long enough to know that what you call a 'major problem' is spilling coffee on the rug and what you call a 'tiny little problem' is an issue of national security," Jess said as she pulled out her phone. "I _have_ to call this in…"

"Jess, hang on a sec and hear me out," Alfred said soothingly and plucking the phone from her fingers. "The president is way over _there_. Fury is _here_. It makes more sense to talk to Fury."

Jess managed to get her phone back. Then she said, "Alfred, don't tell me you've already forgotten what the president said about Fury…"

"Let me put it this way," Alfred interrupted. "Think of how much time it will take to call the president, explain the situation, get the Secret Service or the F.B.I. assembled, and then have them _all_ come up north. Precious, valuable time that _could_ be spent searching for the other nations."

Jess narrowed her eyes while her lips thinned, reluctantly pocketing the phone. "You're an idiot. But I have to agree with you, it will save time to ask Fury for help," she said.

"Yes!" Alfred punched the air in victory. "C'mon, I think I know where S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters is. And the cool part is that if you left this incident out of the report, the president won't ever have to find out because will be S.H.I.E.L.D.'s business and Fury isn't obligated to tell country leaders about his business," he said as he bounded eagerly down the stone steps.

"Fine," Jess said, mentally reminding herself to be patient as Alfred grinned at her. His smile only broadened when she joined him on the sidewalk. "But," she warned, and he hesitated, "If the president finds out that we lost the nations in _New York City_, he is going to have my head. But before he gets mine, I'll make sure to get yours."

When Alfred grinned, she knew he wasn't going to take this seriously. "Gotta keep up with me first!" he chirped before taking off down the street toward the parking garage, laughing and startling pedestrians.

Jess _almost _yelled after him…and then remembered she still had the keys to the car. Holding back a sigh, she started walking after Alfred.

The sooner they handled the crisis, the better.

* * *

><p>S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters turned out to be closer to the United Nations building than Jess thought. After parking in <em>another<em> public parking garage, the two of them crossed the busy street and approached the main entrance to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s building. The agency's full name, '_Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate'_, was written in thin gold letters in the black stone above the revolving glass doors. There was a large sheet of plywood in one of the windows right next to the door. Several workers were standing around it, both indoors and out, and were carefully detaching the plywood from its straps while three more held a large, wrapped sheet of glass. They did not acknowledge Alfred or Jess when the two walked inside.

To the untrained eye, the milling men and women inside the expansive lobby looked like any other corporate workers. Most were in business attire and the fake smiles on a few reminded Jess of the numerous politicians she'd met over the course of her F.B.I. career. Upon closer inspection however, Jess could see concealed weapons and holsters underneath jackets and shirts of quite a few. There weren't just business people in the crowd, but trained fighters as well.

Alfred, as usual, missed the danger in the room.

"Hey Thirty-five! How're you doing?" he called out to an auburn-haired woman, who just smiled and waved. "Fifty-four! How's the plane coming along?" he asked, pausing by a man who seemed startled to see him at first.

"Ah, it's coming," the man said before jumping when another agent approached him from behind.

Alfred waved to get another agent's attention. "Sarge, didja hear who won the game? I_ missed_ it!" he said.

The sergeant shook his head apologetically. "Sorry Alfred, I was training recruits at the time."

Alfred sighed but kept going. He perked back up when he spotted someone else. "Hey, Agent Sixty-nine!" he shouted across the lobby, catching the attention of a frizzy-haired man. "How's your twin? Are you still being mistaken for him?"

"My number is _ninety-six!_" Agent 96 howled, pointing angrily at his shoulder number patch.

"Sorry! I'll take that as a yes!" Alfred said cheerfully as a few nearby agents laughed, having seen the exchange.

"Can I help you, Mr. Jones and Miss, ah…?" a woman said, materializing in front of the pair. She was among those wearing a business suit, and she had a few manila folders tucked into her arm.

"Jessica Norwood," Jess said, offering a hand.

"Ah, Ms. Norwood, it is a pleasure," the woman said, accepting the handshake. "Teresa Marshall." She glanced briefly past the two of them at where the window was being repaired before looking back at them. "Now, how can I help you?"

Alfred spoke up first. "Two things. One, is Agent Sixty-seven around?"

Teresa smiled. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones. Agent Sixty-seven is out of state on business. And on that note, I'm sorry to say that when the helicarrier malfunctioned, all records of the video game marathon you had with Sixty-seven were erased," she said, transferring the folders to the other arm.

Alfred visibly deflated; it had taken the two men fifteen games and two months to get that far in the marathon. But then he remembered the other reason they were there. "We kinda need to talk to Director Fury, it's an emergency," he said sheepishly.

Teresa frowned. "Is it a national emergency?"

"Try _international_," Alfred said, and Teresa sighed as she pulled out a handheld device to study the calendar.

"Well, he's free in three minutes. We'll let him be the judge of the severity of the situation. Follow me, please," she said, snapping the device closed and then started walking away. Alfred glanced at Jess, shrugged, and then began to follow Teresa, Jess close behind.

Alfred may have been on the helicarrier numerous times in the past, but this was the first time he'd ever been in the ground headquarters as a guest (he didn't count the one time that Spider-Man had double-dog dared him to walk in and ask to see Fury's second-in-command Maria Hill. Hill had been less than pleased to see him). Unfortunately there wasn't much for them to see on the route to Fury's latest hiding place. Alfred was hoping to see some high tech super spy stuff, but either their present route didn't have any of that or Teresa was just that careful not to give anything confidential away to the newcomer.

After what seemed like an agonizing long time (what part of 'international emergency' didn't get across?), Teresa finally came to a stop outside a pair of plain metal doors. "Wait here," she instructed before she turned around, knocked, and then went inside without waiting for a response.

"Her attitude isn't directed at you, it's usually directed at me," Alfred muttered to Jess. "Something I've noticed is that Teresa's moods usually reflect Fury's, so I always talk to her first before I talk to Fury. Just so I can get an idea of what to expect from him."

"So is Fury in a good mood today?" Jess asked, deciding to humor her charge.

Alfred shrugged. "Teresa's not mad, she's on edge. Something is making Fury nervous and there's nothing he can do about it and he hates that." He frowned, and then said, "I don't know how he'll respond to our news though."

"Well, if you had just _checked_ your email before you went to bed last night…"

"Hey, Arthur called me to let me know he got here safely, and we sort of got distracted from there," Alfred said.

Jess nodded. "One more question. What is with the numbers on the agents?"

"Identification and secrecy purposes. When Fury first found out about the personifications, he let me have a number too, number seventy-six." Alfred paused and frowned. "Arthur wasn't amused when I told him though."

Jess nodded and turned when the doors opened again and Teresa came out. "He's finishing up a phone call, but he'll see you now," she said, stepping aside to let them both enter the room.

It was like stepping onto the set of a science fiction movie…almost. The lack of bustling people around the high-ceilinged room definitely killed the sci-fi atmosphere. A long metal table dominated the center of the room, and it was covered in several scattered folders and loose papers. Alfred knew Fury well enough to know that the director didn't leave important and confidential documents lying about, so it was safe to assume that these were harmless. Above the table were five large monitors, four were on and one was off. Alfred recognized two of the maps: the one of New York City and the other of Washington D.C. The red dots however were unlabeled, so Alfred quickly lost interest in those. He didn't recognize the terrain in the other two however, so he opted for staring around the room.

"Well, long time no see, Jones."

Both Alfred and Jess jumped as Fury came into view from the opposite side of the room from where they were standing. "I take it you didn't have much trouble reserving the hotel?" he asked as Dugan joined him.

"Yeah…funny story about that. I didn't actually get the email until ten to fifteen minutes ago. After Agent Sitwell told us about the building being structurally unsafe to be exact." He tilted his head and then asked, "What's wrong with the building? Vash was careful not to hit anything vital during those peace negotiations six months ago."

"Vash…that's the Swiss, right?" At Alfred's nod, Fury said, "The problem with the building_ now_ is that Spider-Man was less than careful when battling the Green Goblin earlier this week." Fury narrowed his eyes. "Now did you just come here for a social visit to waste my time, or do you have a legitimate reason for being here?"

Alfred pouted. "What did Teresa tell you?"

Fury scowled. "I don't know if you remember this, Jones, but the last time you came to me with an 'international emergency', it turned out you were trying to take a potshot at Braginski."

"When was that?" Jess asked, raising an eyebrow at Alfred, who scowled.

"Cold War. Several of my high-ranking citizens were murdered," he said quietly. "When Senator Baxtor died in '73, I told Fury it was an international emergency. Which it should have been."

"I told you then and I'll tell you again, Jones. There were no leads in any of those cases to suggest that it was murder. Besides, I had my hands full with keeping Western leaders alive and dealing with my predecessor's murder." Fury sighed and, pinching the bridge of his nose, asked, "But back to the point. What's the emergency this time?"

Alfred looked down at his feet, but since he hesitated, Jess took the initiative.

"He said he didn't get the email until we spoke to Sitwell less than thirty minutes ago. Sitwell said he'd been turning people away _all_ morning." She quelled down the rising panic and said in a slightly strained voice, "All of the World Conference participants _are loose in New York City._"

Silence.

Then, "Care to run that by me again?" Fury's tone was cool and calm.

Alfred mumbled something under his breath, but Jess repeated, "All of the World Conference participants are wandering around New York City right now. Without supervision."

"Add in the unpredictability of New York's superhero population, the underground crime wars, and Tony Stark, and you're just _asking_ for a disaster. And that's just Manhattan alone," Dugan pointed out. "Besides, didn't you specifically ask Beilschmidt to bring his brother along?" he added with a slight smirk.

Fury flipped him off, much to the other man's amusement.

"First things first. Don't go anywhere," Fury growled at Alfred and Jess. He turned around to Dugan. "What the hell is 67's cell number?"

" '3441'," Dugan recited without looking up from something on the table.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. code, so they don't have to worry about dialing the whole number in an emergency," Alfred muttered to Jess, who nodded.

"67? Yeah, it's me, Fury…no, I was actually calling about your new orders," Fury said as he typed in some commands with one hand and held the phone in the other. The Washington D.C. map switched to a closer satellite image of the city; what Alfred had thought was one red tracer dot was actually three close together.

"…Well, stall then. I don't want Captain Rogers to come back here until we've smoothed over a small crisis that sprang up…no, _stay_ with him, no one talks to Rogers without my authorization. Yes, that _does_ include the President. Thank you." Fury hung up before looking back at them. "Now, in order to…"

"Fury."

Jess turned sharply at Alfred's cold tone. The nation looked eerily calm, but Jess could still sense the angry undertone. "Fury…we've talked about this back in the fifties. No more copycats of my best friend and teammate, I don't _care_ what kind of publicity it gets you…"

"You're right Jones, we did talk about this, and I promise you that this isn't Rogers's clone or copycat this time." Fury glanced back at the map and said, "We got into a three-way fight with the United States and the Russian Federation to recover a piece of Hydra wreckage. Wreckage that was found in the North Atlantic with a pilot we all thought dead." Fury gestured to the map over his shoulder. "Turns out that the serum kept Rogers alive in the ice for over _sixty _years. Hell, once he woke up, he hit the ground running, thinking we were Nazis or something. Did you see that smashed window in the front? That was Rogers."

Alfred didn't look convinced.

Fury shrugged. "Fine, don't believe me. Better for Rogers I suppose, he's already morose about missing a date by sixty years with a certain female British agent. On the plus side though, he knows that World War Two is over. Hopefully, he'll stay in D.C.; I doubt the Beilschmidt brothers will be happy to see him anyway."

A faint, thoughtful look crossed Alfred's face, but it was masked before Jess could fully analyze it. Fury shut down the D.C. map before turning to Dugan to ask something. Jess leaned in and whispered, "Who is Rogers?"

"Old friend of mine…from World War Two…" Alfred's voice trailed off and something seemed to click in his eyes before it too disappeared underneath his mask.

"Alfred, don't even think about it. We still have nations to find, remember?" Jess said. She turned to Fury and asked, "Do you think you can help us find the delegates or not?"

Fury paused to think about it for a minute. "I'll have to start by shutting down all inbound and outbound transportation to and from the city, keep the impending damage in a contained area," he said as Dugan finally collected the materials on the table before walking out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.

"Can you do that? Legally?" Jess asked.

Fury smirked. "This is an international matter. As long as we protect our charges, I get almost free reign to do whatever I want."

_No wonder the President is wary of him._

"But of course, I'll need your assistance in bringing back the personifications, Agent Norwood."

"Wait, what?" Jess stared at Fury. Sure, Alfred held the man in high regard but she'd never had formal introduction with the S.H.I.E.L.D. director before. That, and her involvement with the nation personifications was technically supposed to be a secret. "How do you know-"

"That's for me to know and you to think about. For the record, I'm not telepathic." Fury shut down the other two maps, leaving up the one of New York City. "Anyway, I suspect that you interact with the other nations more frequently than I do, seeing that remaining at Alfred's side is part of your job description. Which means you'll have a better idea of the different nations' temperaments." Fury leaned against the table, his one eye studying Jess, making her slightly uncomfortable. "This of course, leads to an…_offer_ of sorts."

Jess narrowed her eyes. On one hand, she wanted to get the nations back in a timely manner to reduce the level of damage that this blunder was undoubtedly going to incur. On the other hand however, she _still_ didn't quite trust Fury very much yet. Just because Alfred did, it didn't mean that she had to as well. "What _kind_ of offer?" Jess asked.

"A simple one. You provide the information, and I'll provide the manpower. We get all the nations back, they go to their meetings for the rest of the week, and _then_ you can mention this incident to the president." Fury offered a hand. "Deal?"

"And if I refuse?"

"Then I'll ask you to go retrieve Jones for me so that _he_ can help me designate teams to find each nation," Fury said, looking unfazed.

Jess snorted. "Director, that isn't going to work because Alfred is right here next to…" her voice trailed off when she turned and realized that she was gesturing to empty air.

_Oh no. He didn't._

Jess glanced back at the entrance, and saw the door that Dugan had left wide open on his way out earlier. She hurried over and stuck her head out in the hall only to find two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents chatting with a nearby custodian to the right, and a redheaded woman looking faintly annoyed with a man with short blond hair and a compact bow folded on his back to the left.

But no Alfred.

"I believe Agent Norwood, you were in the middle of saying something?" Fury asked, casually walking over and leaning against the wall next to where she was standing by the doorframe.

Jess glared at him. "You helped Alfred, didn't you?"

Fury managed to look appropriately offended while smirking at the same time. "Now why would you go and say something like that? So Dugan left the door open when he left to deliver some documents for me. It's hardly his or my fault that Alfred decided to leave," Fury said, stretching slightly.

"But you told him about that friend of his."

"To be honest Agent Norwood, I thought he was going to punch me for that. It's a bit of a sensitive subject because I did something years ago that he still hasn't forgiven me for. 'Course, I thought he was a human at the time, so I thought we'd never have to deal with the issue again. But that's all history now. I didn't think he would go after Rogers now. Assuming of course that _is_ where he's going."

"What do you mean by that?" Jess's voice was sharp.

"Nothing. You just seem very confident that he's going after Rogers instead of say, Kirkland," Fury pointed out.

Jess remembered the need to find the nations. As well as her current dilemma over whether if she could trust Fury or not with _classified_ information.

The President was definitely going to kill her and Alfred for this.

"How about I sweeten the deal a bit, make it worth your while?" Fury straightened and said, "You help me by providing the necessary information to get the personifications back _before_ they tear New York to shreds, and _I'll_ help you by not only tracking the personifications down, but by bringing Alfred back from wherever he went off to?" He extended a hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Jess glared at him, irritated that she had gotten herself into this mess in the first place. Despite her private misgivings, and the orders that the President had given her, she was going to have to work with this man…even if Fury did maneuver her into this situation. She had no other idea of how to bring back the nations in an orderly manner.

Suppressing a sigh, she said, "Very well, Director. We have a deal." Her arm felt like lead as she took Fury's gloved hand and shook it.

Fury grinned, looking rather pleased with himself. "Please, call me Fury," he said. He walked around Jess and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall. "Come on Norwood! We've got work to do!" he called over his shoulder without breaking stride.

Jess gritted her teeth before leaving the room herself, the door sliding shut on its own behind her. As she walked, picking up pace slightly to catch up to Fury, she pulled her cell phone out to call Alfred and figure out where the hell he went off to.

_When_ he got back, Alfred F. Jones was a dead man.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: If the chapters start to get too long, let me know. We'll be checking in on the nations themselves in two chapters, so stay tuned :) Also, anonymous reviews are now enabled. Finally, as it turns out, 'S.H.I.E.L.D.' can be an acronym for many different variations of the agency's name. I went with the one from the comics, because the one from the films specifically state 'Homeland' as the 'H', and I'd rather that S.H.I.E.L.D. had more flexibility than that.**


	4. Deployment

**IV**

**Deployment**

* * *

><p>"Before we send <em>anyone <em>out, there are a few parameters that need to be established. Just so we can avoid losing men and women along the way," Fury said, walking briskly as Jess followed him through the twisting halls. "First and foremost, we don't want to give the game away to the public; that we lost foreign diplomats that is. The second that the media catches wind of this, they'll be all over this story like flies to a dead animal."

Jess wrinkled her nose at the analogy. Then she asked, "What else? I thought that keeping this on the downside was a given…"

"We want to match the recovery team to the nation personification," Fury said, dropping his voice as two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents passed them in the hall. "I don't want to lose soldiers because of old vendettas." At Jess's confused expression, Fury asked, "Did Jones ever tell you about how I found out about the nations?"

"He mentioned it briefly, didn't delve into specifics," Jess said, remembering the conversation from yesterday.

"Well, while we were chasing Beilschmidt, Carriedo, and Bonnefoy, I sent a patrol of four agents to tail them once we located them in Rome, Italy. Next thing I know, one agent got waylaid to Portugal, one went to Paris to head the trio off, and the remaining two returned to the helicarrier mentally scarred. The duo said that if I ever sent them after any of those three again, they would quit their jobs. I had to recall the other two, but only the one from Paris came back."

"What happened to the one that went to Portugal?" Jess asked.

Fury grimaced. "Don't know. We're still looking for him."

Jess nodded. "I see."

"Anyway, the point of that story is that I don't want to lose those other three soldiers just because one of the nation trio decided to seek vengeance against me; I wasn't very nice when I arrested them. The only thing I regret from that is that I can't arrest any of the nation trio anymore."

"They call themselves the 'Bad Touch Trio'," Jess said, and Fury nodded.

"Appropriate. So that leaves three agents that _can't_ go after any of the Bad Touch Trio." Fury reached into his utility belt and pulled out a small communicator. "Talk to me Dugan."

Dugan's voice was crackly when he responded as though he was in a poor reception area. "_Yes sir?"_

"I want you at Hill's side in case she needs me for anything. She has her orders and should not deviate from them. Let me know immediately if she does; I do not want her to find out about the nations," Fury said, not bothering to lower his voice; it was no secret in the high command that Fury and Hill were often at odds with each other.

"_Yes sir. Oh, and sir?"_

Fury let out an impatient huff between his teeth. "What is it now, Dugan?"

"_I thought we agreed not to let Jones know about Rogers's return._"

Fury glanced back at Jess, who had her phone up to her ear and was looking impatient. No doubt trying Alfred's number again. "Yeah, that was my original plan, but after hearing about the other nations, I'd rather have Alfred out of the way and in a place where I know he is instead of running around unchecked," he said, lowering his voice slightly as he faced forward again.

"_She's not going to be happy when she finds out we were tracking Jones the whole time."_

"I'll deal with that when it happens. You have your orders." With that, Fury hung up and pocketed the communicator. Before Jess could speak again, Fury flagged down another officer that had been walking past them. "Get in touch with the Field Operations coordinator and tell her that I want _all_ forms of transportation in and out of New York City _shut_ _down_ until I give the green light."

"Sir, what about the mayor?"

"He'll understand: he's used to this." With that, Fury dismissed the officer and then gestured for Jess to continue following him. "Where was I? Oh yes, team match-ups. We'll have a limited number of agents to work with, since the Avengers are off-duty and I just tied up the Field Operations department. Since they are trained for risky and delicate missions, we'll only use the Special Ops agents for this. Convenient timing I might add, Special Ops just inducted a bunch of recruits so this mission might be a good way to break them in," Fury said, pausing long enough to punch his ID code into a punch-pad right next to an elevator.

"Are you sure about that? I can think of a few nations that wouldn't have qualms about tormenting recruits," Jess said as she followed Fury onto the elevator.

"So that's _another_ thing we need to take into account. Personality and experience. I'm thinking teams of three, which should be plenty because most of the Spec Ops agents are used to working either alone or in pairs. While I can see a group of four being 'safe' for numbers, I don't want the soldiers to start squabbling amongst each other because too many styles are being cramped," Fury said as the elevator began to fall. "So once we start splitting teams, we'll put the recruits with an experienced agent to avoid as much trouble as possible. Kids need the hands-on experience anyway."

Jess raised an eyebrow. "You'll need to take into account physical details also. Three short agents aren't going to feel very brave when facing Russia."

Fury frowned, trying to recall the Russian in question. "He's the tall one with the thick white scarf and carries a lead pipe, right?"

"Yes, and I think he already took a swing at one of your agent, or at least tried too. Agent Sitwell?" Jess said, remembering how the agent in question had reacted that morning when they were talking about Alfred's 'colleagues'.

"Sitwell? I'm not surprised, he's one of the few agents that felt particularly brave during the Cold War and slipped underneath the Iron Curtain for several missions. We can't send him after that crazy Hungarian woman either, he's already been on the receiving end of her frying pan at least twice," Fury replied. He noticed that Jess was still fiddling with her cell phone, and then he added, "I'd put that phone away if I were you, we're going underground where there is no reception anyway, and you'd just waste battery power."

Jess stared at her phone as though silently willing it to ring. "What if Alfred calls?"

"Chances are that he won't even remember that he even has a phone until he finds what he's looking for," Fury said as the elevator came to a stop. He gestured to the opening doors and said, "Ladies first."

Fury never got tired of the incredulous look that first timers got whenever they entered the well-lit database archival center. This was literally S.H.I.E.L.D.'s brain; all of the data from the three helicarriers in use and bases from around the world were backed up here. Security was at its tightest; Fury had handpicked the workers here and there was even a ground-level entrance that was well hidden to the outside world. Several large monitors surrounded the main room, and all were in use. No one looked up to acknowledge the two new arrivals.

"This is where we'll access the Special Ops database; I keep track of everything down here. Even with the computers though, it's sometimes hard to find very specific information right away," Fury said, conveniently neglecting to mention that most of the digital archives were either dummy or extremely outdated files. The advancement of technology had also brought the most unusual of techno-based villains, and Fury preferred not to leave a digital trail for them to find. The more sensitive information was kept as hard copies and was locked safely away in a discreet location that only Fury, Hill and select members of the security staff knew about.

"When we did the database overhaul in 2000, the Estonian, Eduard von Bock, helped us strengthen security against viral attacks as well as the increase the structural integrity of the database, making it harder for agents with little computer know-how to crash the system by accident. Even Jones hasn't been down here yet, so don't mention this place to him," Fury added as he began walking toward one of the small conference rooms off to the side.

"What? Oh, okay. Don't mention it to Alfred." Jess reflexively reached for her phone, but stopped when she remembered that there was no reception. "He'd love it down here though," she said finally.

"And he would start poking his nose where it isn't wanted, and I'd have to bribe McDonalds into coaxing him out," Fury said as they arrived to the small conference room. He unlocked the door, and stepped back to let Jess through. All outside noise disappeared as soon as he shut the door. "Here, we can have the most privacy. No cameras, no sound in or out, and the screen here," he gestured to the screen mounted on the wall, "serves as both a television and a computer." He pressed a small panel and a keyboard popped out while Jess sat down at the end of the table facing the screen.

The screen and monitor sprang to life with a hum, and Fury easily accessed the Special Ops department database. "Here, use this remote to scroll through the personnel profiles once I pull them up," he said, tossing the device across the table to Jess.

A roster of the World Conference attendees appeared on one side of the screen while the roster of available agents appeared on the other side, leaving a blank space between the two. "I figured we'd go through the list of conference attendees just so we don't miss anyone."

Jess leaned forward. "Before we get started, I just was wondering as to the reluctance of involving the Avengers?" she asked, folding her hands on the tabletop.

"Tony Stark," Fury said as though that explained everything.

He leaned forward and entered a command, and Jess watched as a yellow dot appeared next to Alfred's name. "What does that color mean?" she asked, reaching for her phone yet again, her fingers nearly missing the device still in her pocket.

"It means I still have to assign him a team. _After_ we locate him that is, it's going to be a whole separate task seeing that he loves to travel," Fury said, his voice trailing off in a mutter. He paused when he saw that Jess was dialing the number again and then he said, "Ms. Norwood? No reception down here, remember?"

"Ah, sorry. I thought my phone was getting service despite the 'no reception', my mistake," Jess replied, and the phone disappeared back underneath the table.

Fury nodded and turned back to the screen and keyboard. Since Jess Norwood was new, there was no way that she could tell he was sending along coded orders to shut down both ingoing and outgoing communications for now. Alfred Jones was safe for now, there were already several agents keeping track of his progress upstairs. All Fury had to do was stall until one of Rogers's escorts contacted him saying that they had Jones in their charge. If he was careful about the whole execution of the scheme, and didn't slip up because of outside distractions, then Norwood would be none the wiser and Dugan's fears would be groundless.

He looked back at the screen for the next set of diplomats while Jess scrolled through the list of possible S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, studying each profile.

_Ludwig Beilschmidt._

_Gilbert Beilschmidt._

"Ludwig should be easy to convince to cooperate, he's the most rational out of all them," Jess said as Fury took a couple of steps back to get a better look at the screen. "Then, once we have him, we can-"

"He and his brother is one of the few special cases we were talking about earlier, and I'm not just saying that because of Gilbert's Bad Touch Trio membership," Fury interrupted. "There's a little too much bad blood between those two and myself personally. They won't come quietly, especially when they find out that I'm behind it." He paused, briefly recalling his two memorable encounters with the Beilschmidt brothers. Neither one had left a good impression with either party. No, these two required special handling, and he knew how to go about it. "May I see that?" he asked, holding his hand out for the remote.

Jess pushed it across the table, and then sat back to watch Fury scroll through the personnel lists. He couldn't remember if he'd sent his intended agent out on a mission already, he sincerely hoped not…

"Here we go," he said, pausing at one officer. "Eric Koenig. He's been with me since the beginning, which is World War Two. He used to serve in the German army until 1942, when I coaxed him to jump ship and join the Allies; he'd been having self-doubts about his job at the time and I just nudged him in a different direction," Fury said as Jess studied the photograph on the screen. "Anyway, his last mission from me during the war was to shadow the Beilschmidt brothers after we captured both, and he said after the war that he got along well with them once they warmed up to the idea of having him around."

"That can't be right…if his birth date and your story is correct, then he should be well over eighty years old by now and this photo needs to be updated," Jess said, gesturing to the screen.

"Yeah, I know how old he is. Crazy guy keeps forgetting his meds before he goes overseas to kick A.I.M. ass," Fury said, snorting. "I wouldn't bring up ages around him or any of his teammates, they tend to get a little sensitive about that. Did Jones ever tell you how we first met?"

"I assumed it was in 1990, after you found out about the nations."

"Nope. Kid goaded my men into a drinking contest back in London in '42. It was nice and awkward for him when General Phillips formally introduced us less than twelve hours later." Fury went through the list of agents, and selected a German-American to join Koenig's team: a redhead named Erica Holstein.

Jess finally released the breath she hadn't realized that she'd been holding. "I'd ask how you and Koenig and any others managed to live this long without appearing to age, but I suspect there's a very simple explanation behind the answer."

"It's confidential too," Fury said, glancing back at her. "Tell you what. Once your duty with Jones is over, come work for me and I'll tell you the secret," he said, tossing the remote back to her. "But back to my point. Since Koenig and the Beilschmidts know each other, he can convince Ludwig that I'm not trying to trick him again," he said as he typed out the generic order: 'retrieve this target' before sending the orders out to the three teammates with a small packet of information on both brothers. Then a green dot appeared by Ludwig's and Gilbert's names, indicating that Koenig had received the orders. "Now, we move on," Fury muttered to himself.

Even Jess knew that the next one was going to be a challenge: Francis Bonnefoy, the personification of France. She said no women; Fury said careful selection. _Somehow_, the two of them manage to whittle down the list of candidates to about seven agents. After deliberating between the seven, Fury scrapped them all and started over again with a new set of seven. Jess briefly felt as though she and Fury were lawyers in the courtroom selecting the jury, or in this case, the retrieval team for the French personification. It took them twenty minutes until they were both satisfied with the team. There had been one objection from Jess; seeing that the leader was a certain Sergeant Rushman, she said he might not be eager to encounter the Frenchman again so soon, but Fury said that the sergeant would get over it. Then Fury sent the orders out before moving on again.

Next was Arthur Kirkland. "Director, if you don't mind, I'd like to lead this one," Jess said, and Fury paused as though waiting for an explanation. Jess refrained from sighing and said, "Because he and Alfred work together frequently, he and I know each other well."

"He's the one that sees fairies, right?" Fury asked.

"Yes."

Fury raised his hands as though in surrender. "Go for it. I just ask that you take one or two agents with you. I know you're not expecting trouble, but take them just in case," he said, scrolling for the next delegate.

Spain (and Romano by default) received rookie trackers but one semi-experienced team leader so that Fury could have the peace of mind that none of the agents had been involved in the 1990 fiasco. They were also the first group of nations that Jess knew would be together. As she and Fury went along down the list of delegates, Jess identified the nations that would most likely be alone or in a group of two or more. For each multi-nation group, Fury increased the number of agents accordingly, keeping the numbers odd so that if there was an inter-group fight, there could be no chances of a tie between two factions in the number of supporters. As each team received approval, orders were electronically sent to the team in question; Fury said that once every nation had a retrieval team, he planned to send out a general message blast to the rest of the Special Ops department, including the department's second-in-command.

"Why not the department head as well?" Jess asked, pausing in her writing; she'd been making notes of who was retrieving whom in a small notebook she'd pulled from her purse.

"Because while I trust Maria Hill enough to be my second-in-command and help me run this operation while also leading the Special Ops forces, I don't trust her enough to help find the nations while not blabbing to the United Nations about it. And I'd prefer if the U.N. didn't hear about this so soon after the mass breakout, they're mad at me enough already." Fury frowned and then asked, "What's Braginski's temperament like?"

Jess thought back to her very limited interactions with the Russian from diplomatic visits, mentally filtered out Alfred's biased rants, and then considered what she'd heard from a few friends that also knew about their respective personifications. "I've never formally met him," she began slowly, "but others have described him as… unpredictable and temperamental."

"And I'm sure that lead pipe isn't for show," Fury said, looking back at the U.N. photo ID on file for Ivan Braginski. "All right then, I'm putting Major Carol Danvers in charge of his retrieval team and advise caution for all three."

"And you think that Major Danvers is appropriate because…?" Jess asked.

"She has an… unique skill set that should help her in case Braginski gets a little violent," Fury said before sending out the orders and confirming the mission; he was going to let Danvers choose her team, trusting that she knew her coworkers well enough to make a good decision. He sighed when Jess frowned at the next diplomat, who was from Belarus. "Any suggestions for her?"

_Knock, knock._

Fury turned to the door, frowning while Jess stiffened. Only an emergency would bring an agent here while Fury was working. "Come in!" he said, ignoring Jess's tensed expression.

It was Agent Phil Coulson, a member of Fury's command staff and the S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison to the Avengers. "I'll be quick, sir, there are just two issues that require immediate attention," he said calmly before he glanced briefly over at Jess as though deciding whether she should be allowed to hear his news or not.

Fury answered the unspoken question by saying, "What is it, Coulson? Is Stark trying to sue us again for the flying cars or for something else he thinks we 'stole' from his father?"

"Actually, no. He's been quiet since we enacted the Avengers Initiative." Coulson coughed into a hand before he said, "Power Man and Iron Fist were on patrol as requested when they encountered _another_ battle between R.A.I.D. and A.I.M. in Brooklyn. Commander Hill recommended sitting this one out and just clean up the mess after, but Power Man and Iron Fist are hesitant and are currently debating whether to follow orders or not. They're still on the scene."

"Well, _I _don't want civilians caught in the crossfire. I'm overriding Hill's orders and giving permission for those two to interfere. Reinforcement availability might be questionable for a little while." Fury arched an eyebrow and asked, "You said there were two issues. What is the second one?"

"John Jameson from the _Daily Bugle_ called again about Spider-Man. Apparently Spider-Man has a new accomplice, some young blond kid in a blue sailor suit. The two were spotted swinging around all over town, and the longer they're out, the 'more of a danger' the accomplice is in," Coulson said, sounding exhausted; Fury didn't blame him. They were all used to Jameson's frequent complaints. But, for once in a blue moon, Fury was inclined to agree with Jameson that yes, the 'accomplice' was in danger this time. Spider-Man should have known better than to bring a young kid on a joyride…

"I'll deal with that once I'm done here with Ms. Norwood," Fury said, glancing at Jess only to find that she had her face buried in her hands. "In the meantime," Fury said, turning back to Coulson as an idea struck him, "I need you to gather a small team and find Miss Natalia Arlovskaya, and then bring her back here," he said, downloading her information onto Coulson's handheld.

Coulson studied the image and the accompanying data on the screen. "What is her temperament like?" he asked.

"Think Black Widow on a bad day during a drawn-out and unnecessary mission, with knives instead of guns, and you'll be in the same ballpark."

"All right, I talk to the quartermaster on my way out." Coulson frowned. "Do you think she'll start a fight?"

"Plan for it," Fury said, and Coulson nodded.

"Tell Arlovskaya that her brother wants to see her, and then lead her here. That's all there is to it. Just be careful that she doesn't catch you in the lie," Jess said, catching both men's attention.

"Thank you, ma'am," Coulson said before pocketing his device. Turning to Fury, Coulson asked in a low voice, "Does she work for us?"

"No. She's federal, but we're working together on a little mission," Fury said, ending the conversation.

Coulson hesitated, glanced warily at Jess one more time before nodding to Fury and then leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. Fury meanwhile turned back to Jess, who looked exhausted. "I'm guessing that the kid in the blue sailor suit is another personification?" he asked, scrolling through the list of World Conference attendees. The Arlovskaya girl had been the last one, and everyone else had been taken care of. He didn't see anyone else who matched Jameson's description of the boy.

"He's not on the list because he's technically not supposed to be there. He's a micro-nation, the personification of Sealand. His human name is Peter Kirkland, he hates England, both the country and the personification, and he's forever pushing for international recognition. I wouldn't be surprised if one day he manages to goad Alfred into something stupid like competing for new leadership in their meetings just so he can get someone new to lead, someone who will recognize him as a full nation," Jess said, refraining from reaching for her cell phone, which was now sitting on the table. Her hand still twitched, and it reminded Fury of some unfinished business.

"Tell you what," he said, leaning over and shutting off the monitor. "Let's go back up and you can grab some personnel and go after Arthur Kirkland, and I'll get someone to bring the little Kirkland in," he offered, gesturing to the now-open door. "You can grab some coffee or soda on your way out too."

Jess seemed to hesitate at first, but then stood up, gathered her things, and then left with Fury close behind her. "Where's the pop? I want to grab that before I head out," she said as they started walking back to the elevator.

"Lounge. I'll show you," Fury said, and he was mindful to stay behind her, where she couldn't see him well.

It took him a few seconds to pull his phone out, override the blocked communications, and then disable it from his phone. Then he sent a five-word text message to a certain agent before stowing his phone away again.

* * *

><p>It was hard for S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent 67 (Sergeant Brian Willis to the public) to remember that he and his partner, Agent 56, were on a mission, not vacation. They were both dressed as civilians in a crowded area of Washington D.C. near the National Mall, and 56 was haggling over some overpriced souvenirs with an irritated seller while Willis kept an eye on their charge, sipping his iced coffee as he did so.<p>

_Bzzz. Bzzz._

Willis jerked from his reverie when he felt his phone vibrate against his hip. Faintly annoyed, he pulled his phone out, catching 56's attention. She abruptly left the argument and sidled up to Willis. "Orders from the top?" she whispered, lowering her sunglasses to get a better look at the phone's display.

"No… a warning. 'Turkey incoming. Brace for impact,'" he read aloud, frowning at the text message. He checked the sender's number, and swallowed when he recognized it. "Yeah, it's from the top," he said, identifying Fury's number as his private one. "Director's on edge about something."

"Figures," 56 muttered. "It makes as much sense as his cryptic call from earlier. Y'know, when he tells us to stay in D.C. while there's a crisis in Manhattan." Replacing the sunglasses, she brushed loose dark strands of her hair back and out of her face, a faint scowl still present as she scanned the area for potential troublemakers.

Willis didn't question her crankiness; Agent 56 was a security officer, and was used to working in a dark, air-conditioned room surrounded by numerous video and audio monitors. Fury had selected her for this job because of her sharp eyesight. Willis, a retired field agent and an active drill sergeant, was there because he'd been working with their charge since that first day, testing the captain and reinstituting his training regimen. He was comfortable around the captain and vice versa.

"Who do we have for that call-sign? 'Turkey' I mean?" 56 finally asked.

"Alfred F. Jones, that guy who works at the White House and plays video games with me when I'm off duty," Willis said, glancing over at her. "I still haven't figured out if Fury was making a joke or a point when he gave Jones that call-sign."

"I wouldn't know. All I know about turkeys is that they almost became our national bird because they turn red, white, and blue when they gobble, and that they make a damn delicious sandwich the day after Thanksgiving. I wonder what would happen if- _shit_, Sarge, we need intervention!" 56 yelped as something caught her attention.

Willis looked up sharply at where their charge was sitting on a park bench, quietly talking with a World War Two veteran, but a pair of familiar young blond twin girls was standing in front of the captain and the veteran, eagerly waiting for the captain's attention.

One didn't have to be an idiot to see the First Lady coming, or the Secret Service converging on the four.

"Fury's orders… what he said about the president..." 56 began nervously but Willis gave her his iced coffee.

"On it." Willis sighed as he darted over to diffuse the situation before it flew out of hand.

Then again, this was probably nothing. The moment the 'Turkey' landed, things were going to be crazier than this.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow, huge thanks to everyone who has read/alerted/faved/reviewed this story so far! I'm glad that you're all enjoying this story as much as I am. Also, the first spin-off of this story, _Stars and Stripes Forever_, is now up, the link is in my profile. **

**I think what I'm going to do for the future chapters is alternate between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Alfred's travels, so the next chapter is the first round from S.H.I.E.L.D., and the chapter after we'll see what Alfred is up to. :)**


	5. Noon

**V**

**Noon**

* * *

><p>"Where the hell is Fury?"<p>

Melanie Goldman, one of three S.H.I.E.L.D. receptionists in the front lobby, rolled her eyes before looking up at the miffed drill sergeant; he, like his teammate and friend, tended to be blunt when he was in a bad mood. Sergeant Jonathan Branson was towering over a shaking intern in the middle of the lobby, his body angled as though shielding something from sight as the other agents just stared at him. "Hey Branson! Papa Fury is busy right now, is it something that you can leave a message about?" Melanie asked, using the affectionate nickname for the director since he wasn't in earshot.

Branson turned toward her, and said in a deadpan tone, "Is _this_ something I can leave a memo about?" he demanded, stepping aside to show off his latest acquisition.

Melanie raised an eyebrow at the double-edged axe that Branson had evidently lugged into the building from God-knows-where. It had an intricately carved shaft, with something engraved in the wood. From Melanie's distance, she couldn't tell if it was Latin, Spanish, or Italian, or what it even said for that matter. All in all, it was definitely not something one could pick up in a pawnshop.

"Branson, did you raid a history museum or something? Last time I saw an axe like that, it was in a museum in Madrid," Sarah, Melanie's coworker, asked, looking up from her paperwork. She glanced at Melanie and said, "The Spanish _conquistadors_ hauled around serious hardware back then, guns, diseases, huge axes like that…"

"If it's any consolation, I did confiscate this from a crazy Spaniard," Branson said, dragging the axe over to the two receptionists, a curious Agent 96 following him.

"Really? Where is he?" 96 piped up. "I want one of those now…"

"No you don't," Branson warned. "I felt that my life was on the line when the Spaniard was getting all wound up, I was starting to reach for my firearm…"

"Then how did you not get cut up into itty bitty bits?" 96 said, only backing off nervously when Branson scowled at him.

"What happened?" Melanie cut in, hoping to break up the argument before Branson tried to use the axe on Agent 96.

Branson sighed as he balanced the handle against the desk edge. "You know that Starbucks down by the Williamsburg Bridge, near that Italian restaurant?" he asked, leaning against Melanie's desk as well.

"The _Ciao Bella_ restaurant? The one where it's a hit or miss with food poisoning?" 96 supplied helpfully.

"Yeah, that one. Anyway, I was leaving Starbucks after getting a snack, and just started my way back when the restaurant owner comes out and he's literally spitting, he's so mad. He was yelling for the police when he saw my S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform and ambushed me," Branson said, glancing between the three members of his small audience. "So once I gathered my bearings, I asked him what his problem was."

"Which was?" Melanie prompted.

"These two Italian twins had invaded and taken over his kitchens. I had to go into the kitchen, hunt the two down, and haul them both out by the collars before tossing them both out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. I thought I was _done_," Branson said irritably. "But no. Next thing I know, one of the twins jumped up and went straight back in, wailing about his pasta. The other one had these huge crocodile tears that were so blatantly _fake_. I told him to suck it up, and started to leave when this Spaniard showed up in my path and had this creepy smile and battle axe."

96 gulped. "And here I was feeling sorry for the Italian twins," he said, shuddering.

"What did the Spaniard want?" Melanie asked.

"Wanted to know why I hurt his 'little Lovi', whom I'm guessing was the Italian on the sidewalk. Who, by the way, I swear was just milking this situation just to get revenge," Branson growled. "Anyway, I tried to explain to the Spaniard that tourists can't just invade a restaurant kitchen and tell the chefs what to do, but there had to have been a miscommunication because I think he thought I was just threatening him. He was waving the axe around, and there were a few moments where I was sure I was toast. Finally I just told him I was police and that unless he wanted to be arrested, he had to hand over the axe. Of course, 'little Lovi' went berserk as soon as the Spaniard handed the axe over."

"So what did you do after you got the axe?" Sarah asked.

"Dragged it all the way back here. Spaniard was giving me the creeps because he took 'Mama Bear' to a whole new level, but he was cooing to the Italian as I was leaving. Restaurant owner is probably going to call soon for someone to get rid of the other twin," Branson said. He looked down at the axe and sighed. "I think I'm going to take the axe down to the quartermaster and let him play with it. I've got to get back to work; those smart-ass recruits are going to get the wrong idea if I don't show up to class on time. I'll see you all around," he said before leaving.

Melanie, Sarah, and Agent 96 all watched Branson leave, dragging the axe along behind him. Melanie winced when she saw the thin scratches that the axe was leaving behind in the floor; Custodial Services was going to have a fit about that.

"So," 96 finally said. "Who wants to be the one to tell Branson that his entire afternoon class got roped into closing the city off so that a bunch of foreign diplomats don't escape?"

"I say let him find out for himself," Sarah said, rolling her eyes before going back to work.

"How come you didn't get roped into this diplomat thing?" Melanie asked 96 curiously.

96 shrugged. "I'm already booked for the next couple days. The presidential hopeful for that National American Revivalist Party, Dell Rusk, managed to convince Papa Fury to give him a security escort for his diplomatic trip to London. We'll be leaving this evening," he said, leaning against Melanie's desk until she shooed him off. "He's going to be collaborating with a bunch of English VIPs, and I'm going to be bored out of my mind…"

"Just watch what you eat. Steph from Human Resources went to England last summer and ate something that gave her severe food poisoning several hours later," Melanie said as she went back to her paperwork.

"Yeah, don't worry, I already know tha-ahhh, oooh, nice animal, nice bear… Mel, whatever you do, _do not flinch!"_

Melanie remained absolutely frozen as she had when 96 started stuttering and panicking, and silently counted to ten before slowly looking up to see the problem.

A real, honest-to-God polar bear was standing there, its front paws using the desk edge to prop itself up. It stared at her with intense black eyes, tilting its head in plain curiosity, even going as far to lean forward to sniff her. Heart thudding in her chest and throat, Melanie carefully leaned away from it. It wasn't even a baby polar bear, which she could handle because it was small. No, it was more of an adolescent bear, one with the hormones and sheer physical power that could kill her if it so desired. Words like 'wild animal', 'dangerous', 'powerful', and 'sharp teeth' came to mind as she tried to scoot away from the bear. After a few seconds of the staring contest, the bear looked up to its left and said, "Who are you?" further adding to Melanie's shock, so much that she missed the whispered answer.

"Did you guys know that polar bears are the world's largest bear?" 96 said, having gotten over his brief panic attack now that the other spectators in the lobby safely surrounded him. "It's also against the law in Canada to hunt a mother polar bear that is with both her cubs. Cubs are obviously off-limits too."

"That's nice and all, but that doesn't help get rid of _this_ polar bear!" Melanie snapped, trying not to completely lose her temper; she was too frightened at the moment.

_I can handle everything from Deadpool to M.O.D.O.K__.__ invading this building, but apparently not a polar bear hanging out at _my _desk_, she thought crossly to herself as the bear let out a small whine before resting its head on the desk, taking up a large amount of space.

"I know; I'm trying to think! Okay, there was this guy who lived near my high school in Toronto, and he was this polar bear expert. I'd hang out with him after school with my brother, and he'd tell us all sort of things about sports and animals. He even owned a polar bear, and once invited my brother and me to come see it. The bear's name was Kuma something, I don't remember off the top of my head," 96 said, unable to tear his eyes away from the polar bear.

"You're Canadian?" someone – Agent 35 – asked.

"Technically, I've got dual citizenship, my dad's American," 96 said, pulling out his S.H.I.E.L.D. communicator. "Hang on, let me call my brother, he might know how to handle this. Mel, sit tight for now and try not to do anything to scare it. And someone call the Bronx Zoo and see if they're missing any of their animals."

"And please call Animal Control while you're at it," Melanie said quickly.

"_And_ Director Fury, just in case this is another one of Deadpool's pranks," Agent 35 said, eyeing the bear warily. "Melanie, can you get away from your desk without startling it?"

"Let me try." Melanie pushed her chair back and started to stand up, but the moment she did the polar bear looked up expectantly, as though aware of her every move.

It was unnerving.

"Apparently, I can't," she said, settling back down. "I'll be fine, I can hang on until reinforcements show up."

"Don't hold your breath, we're stretched thin as it is," Agent 35 warned.

Melanie nodded. She noticed that the bear was now looking up to its left as though waiting for something, specifically a verbal order. Puzzled, Melanie looked in the same direction only to see someone standing there – _when did he get there? – _and had a friendly smile as though waiting patiently to talk to her. He had bluish eyes, glasses, blond hair, and a long hair curl.

But then polar bear tilted its head at him, and asked, "Who are you?" This distracted Melanie, so when she looked back at the man from the polar bear, the young man was gone again. Shrugging, she awkwardly went back to work while the bear lay down again, sprawled all over her once-free desk space. Well, it had to go back down to the ground at some point, right?

Somewhere close by, she heard the distinct sound of someone palming his forehead in frustration.

* * *

><p>The million-dollar question of the day, Clay Quartermain decided, had to be the following: how the <em>hell<em> had the Swiss diplomat gotten his hands on two hidden revolvers _and _snuck them through international airport security?

The revolvers weren't American-made either. During his brief stint with the S.H.I.E.L.D. quartermaster, Armand, Quartermain learned quite a lot about firearms from around the world and how to recognize them even when they were barely concealed. This was possible because S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, no matter the department, had a habit of bringing in all sorts of non – S.H.I.E.L.D. – issued weapons from missions at home and abroad (only about 2% of which were ever acquired legally).

But what Quartermain could see now were the outlines of a pair of finely crafted Swiss Mini Guns, one in each interior jacket pocket of the man confirmed by the United Nations roster to be a Swiss diplomat. Quartermain also knew without actually seeing them that there was also a Beretta in the Swiss man's hip holster and an 1882 Swiss revolver in a third interior jacket pocket. At least, that was where Quartermain suspected it to be, the man was still wearing the same thick green jacket as he had been for the last hour and a half when Quartermain's recovery team started tailing him.

Quartermain glanced at the only other two teammates out of the total five that were in the Swiss chocolate shop. The other two were supposed to be in the next-door dress shop, but he hadn't heard from them recently. Meanwhile, the two diplomats they were supposed to find and bring back, a pair of siblings named Vash and Lili Zwingli, were simply enjoying the nice spring day by wandering up the street and taking in the sights. Or at least that was how it looked to Quartermain. I was supposed to have been an easy catch, but Kate, the team's only female member, had backed off from the approach once she saw the Beretta and Swiss revolver. So they had to revise the plan.

"What's up?" Kevin, another teammate, said as he joined Quartermain, leaning against the counter near the cash register next to Quartermain.

"Just trying to figure out how to approach Mr. Zwingli without getting something blown off," Quartermain replied. "So far, I've got nothing." He glanced at Kevin and asked, "What about you?"

"Same. Kate and I have confirmed the Beretta as well as the 1882 Swiss revolver. We're going to write to Fury about this slip in airport security when this is all over and see if we can get that fixed," Kevin said grimly.

Quartermain sighed. "I hope his sister, Miss Zwingli, is planning to remain single for the rest of her life. A guy would have to possess a certain level of determination and insanity to face her brother, and then be stupid to go ahead and pursue her while knowing the risks," he said.

"Actually, there is a man. Do you see that yellow bird on her shoulder? Kate overheard the sales assistant asking Miss Zwingli about it, and she said that the bird belonged to a 'close friend', and she was watching it for _him_," Kevin said. "Her brother got all twitchy-eyed and scowling, which makes me wonder if the bird's owner is someone he hates, but can't touch because he knows it would make her upset."

"Interesting," Quartermain said, watching as Zwingli scowled at something the sales assistant said. "You wait and see, at the end of the day, Zwingli's still putty in his sister's hands," he added. The two agents watched the man look between the box of chocolate in the attendant's hands and his younger sister before he finally caved, taking the box from a triumphant salesperson "That probably means that no matter how much he hates the guy he'll let the mystery guy date his sister, albeit on a tight leash."

Kevin shook his head as the brother-sister pair came up to the cash register to pay. "I think you're wrong there. The dynamics between them don't matter," he said, moving slightly away from the cashier to give the Zwinglis room. "When a father, brother, or some other male relative is super-protective over a girl, her date will _always_ go through a nightmarish gauntlet before getting close to her. And if said protector doesn't even like him, then he can just forget it."

Quartermain raised an eyebrow. "Want to put your money where your mouth is?" he asked.

Before Kevin could answer, both men felt a strong hand clamp around each of their necks and force them both to face the shop exit. "What don't we negotiate the price outside?" Zwingli growled, marching the two through the shop and out the door, his sister close behind.

_Shit, shit, shit…_ the mantra repeated itself over and over in Quartermain's head as Zwingli pushed him and Kevin down the sidewalk and into the nearest alley, which was just beyond the dress shop. With practiced ease Zwingli turned the two men around and slammed them against the brick wall. _Jeez, this guy's like an armored tank… almost,_ Quartermain thought blearily as he forced himself to refocus on the angry Swiss still standing in front of him.

"Listen closely, because I'm only going to say this once," Zwingli growled. "I noticed that the five of you were following me once you started, and since you failed to approach me about what is bothering you, I took matters into my own hands in the interest of protecting myself and my sister. Two of your companions have already been dealt with, and the girl inside will be next after you two."

For a moment, neither S.H.I.E.L.D. agent said anything. Then Kevin blurted, "Damn, you're scary."

"What my friend here means to say is that he's impressed that you caught on so quickly," Quartermain said quickly, swallowing when Zwingli turned to glare at him. "But I swear sir, we do not intend to harm you or your sister," he added, glancing briefly at Miss Zwingli, who was patiently standing near her brother, quietly watching the exchange while she stroked the little bird on the head.

Zwingli growled as his grip tightened. "I heard you talking about my sister, I'm not an idiot."

"Sir, I promise you we never intended to harm you or your sister! S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Fury sent us to assist you and Miss Zwingli, seeing as there was an apparent mix-up involving the location of the World Conferences," Quartermain said, putting on his best (albeit shaky) smile in a vain attempt to appeal to Zwingli's less-violent nature.

It backfired.

"Do I look like some addle-brained Italian who needs someone to constantly hold his hand? Your director has already failed me once, why should I trust him now?" Zwingli demanded, his grip tightening a fraction more.

"No, you look very, uh, Swiss to me," Kevin said before Quartermain could speak.

"What he _meant_ to say was that we were not implying that you could not take care of yourself," Quartermain said. "What we meant was –"

"_Brüder?_"

Quartermain nearly wept with relief when Miss Zwingli not only spoke up, but also placed a hand on her brother's shoulder in reassurance. Once she had his attention, she said, "Brüder, I don't think they're going to hurt us or intended anything harmful toward me. Miss Aliskevicz here explained everything to me," she said, gesturing to a nervous Kate standing nearby. "They are only concerned for our safety."

"If they were truly concerned, they would have just _approached_ me," Zwingli growled.

"Do you realize how much hardware you're packing?" Kevin blurted out, looking shocked. "Forgive us, but we didn't want to present ourselves for target practice if you decided you didn't like us!"

"Brüder, let them go. No one got hurt, and they just wanted to help," the girl quietly said.

If her brother wasn't there, Quartermain suspected that Kevin would have hugged Miss Zwingli out of pure joy and relief. Zwingli seemed to think over her words for a few moments, and then decided to believe her. He released the two agents, stepping back as the duo fell unceremoniously to the hard ground below. Kevin let out a whimper as Quartermain staggered back to his feet, not willing to be at this man's mercy any longer than necessary.

"So," he said as he helped a trembling Kevin to his feet, "Shall we head back to headquarters? Director Fury will most likely want to talk to you," he said, trying not to shake the sound of relief in his voice; he'd brushed close to death numerous times in the past with varied methods (apparently bored Hydra soldiers tended to get a little too creative in ways that left even their bosses uncomfortable), but being strangled (and by a 'neutral' diplomat) was a new one.

The scowl remained on Zwingli's face. "Lead the way," he ordered, stepping back to allow the two agents through.

"No problem, sir," Kevin stammered as he scuttled after Quartermain, who was already walking away. "Bring up the rear," Kevin muttered to Kate as he passed her at the entrance of the alley.

Kate nodded, glancing nervously at Zwingli as he and his sister walked by.

After making sure that the Zwinglis were still following (and not drawing any weapons, he didn't trust the sister anymore, not after that show), Quartermain released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He began to mentally map out their route; he was still on the fence about flagging down a cab to take them back to headquarters. He didn't want to unnecessarily traumatize some driver, especially since taxi drivers received a lot of crap from the law for accidentally aiding a supervillain's escape (supervillains more often than not were under cover, and taxi drivers were still charged with aiding and abetting criminals even if they'd been tricked). It would probably take a while to find a driver who would actually drive them.

"Hey, Clay."

He turned to find Kevin. "What is it?" he whispered.

"Remember how Zwingli said that Fury failed him once already? What the hell was that about?" Kevin whispered, resisting the urge to look back.

"Dunno. Sergeant Willis mentioned something like that in passing once, said that Captain Robert Lawson, who is stationed in London, said _he_ heard from an older commanding officer that some Swiss bigwig tried to get these three guys arrested back in 1990, but apparently it backfired on S.H.I.E.L.D. Papa Fury was _pissed_," Quartermain said. "You should ask Willis when he gets back from Virginia."

"Huh." Kevin was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned over and whispered, "Fifty."

Quartermain glanced at Kevin, who was still staring determinedly ahead. "What?"

Kevin gave him a pointed look. "I bet you fifty bucks that by the time this whole mess is over, Miss Zwingli will _not_ have gotten one kiss from her mystery date."

"We don't even know who the man is."

"Then we follow the yellow bird. It's not like we have anything to do anyway since we already did what we were supposed to do," Kevin muttered, his head twitching in a vain effort not to look back at the older Zwingli.

Quartermain had to admit that his companion had a point. "All right, fifty bucks and both our chores for a month. Including scrubbing the third-floor toilets," he whispered.

"You're on."

* * *

><p>Jess Norwood still couldn't believe it, but Fury had managed to find someone who was just as, if not more, persistent than Francis Bonnefoy when it came to pursuing an evening date.<p>

The two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents whom Fury had selected to accompany her kept pace behind her – well, at least one of them did – as she didn't want Arthur Kirkland to jump to the wrong conclusion once they found him. One of the two agents was a quiet woman named Daisy Johnson, and she had been extremely helpful so far, guiding Jess through the lesser used and sometimes hidden side streets and shortcuts that S.H.I.E.L.D. employed often during swift manhunts throughout the city.

The other escort, Daniel Murphy, was the persistent one.

"So I was thinking, since you said you were busy this afternoon and tomorrow morning, would you be free for dinner today? I know this great shawarma place near H.Q.," he said as the three of them crossed the street and started walking toward the New York Public Library.

"I'm sorry, but I'll still be working then too," she replied patiently. She glanced back at Daisy in time to see the other woman drift to the other side of the sidewalk as an armored van drove by, the letters 'MRD' stamped on the side in bright white paint. "I am also sorry to say," Jess continued as she turned back to Murphy, "that I'll be working for quite some time, so I don't know if I'll be free anytime soon."

"Okay, how about you give me your number and I'll call you, or I'll give you mine and you call_ me_?" Murphy suggested.

Before Jess could answer however, Murphy abruptly went sprawling onto the sidewalk. "What the hell?" he snapped crossly as Daisy walked by him, unconcerned.

"When a girl keeps saying no or otherwise keeps turning you down, she's clearly not interested," Daisy replied coolly as Murphy scrambled back to his feet. "Next time you pursue someone out of a bet, it'll be a sinkhole, not a tiny shake," she warned, glaring at him over her shoulder.

"Bet?" Jess whispered, frowning.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. security is notorious for running betting pools on 'baby' missions, especially when the usual perpetrator, Agent 56, isn't on base at the time. Apparently she cheats. Anyway, this one is over whether Murphy can get you to say yes before the day's out," Daisy muttered back. "I wouldn't stress over it." She glanced at the library and said, "I assume that if Mr. Kirkland is indeed here, we are to stay back?"

"Yes please. I don't want him to think he's under arrest or anything. And if he's not here, well, we'll ask the librarian if she's seen him and if she has an idea of where he went next," Jess replied.

"Very well, ma'am." Daisy glanced back at Murphy, who still looked annoyed. "You wait in the lobby, I'll wait out here," she said, and Murphy nodded even though he clearly had a retort all lined up.

The library's silence was stifling, broken only by coughs, whispers, and the occasional fluttering of pages and shuffling of feet. Jess and Murphy walked up to the circulation desk, and Jess glanced around while they waited in line for the next available librarian. She couldn't see any other patrons in her immediate line of sight, except for those at the desk, and Murphy had fallen quiet for the first time she'd met him. He seemed tenser than Jess felt, eyes flickering between the two families at the front desk. At one point, his communicator buzzed and Jess glanced at him as he listened to something before muttering, "Meet you there."

"Something wrong?" she whispered as he hung up.

"No, ma'am. Daisy just wanted to let us know that she's going to the Starbucks across the street to wait for us," Murphy said as the nearest family began to leave, walking past the two of them. "She didn't feel comfortable enough being here, even in front of the building." He shrugged and said "City politics."

"Next, please."

Jess smiled as she approached the librarian. The other smiled briefly as well, eyes warily scanning Murphy before asking, "Good afternoon, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm actually looking for a person, not a book," she said, leaning on the desk slightly. "I'm looking for an Englishman who has sandy hair, green eyes, and is a little shorter than him," she said, gesturing to Murphy. "He also –"

"Is he into the supernatural, talks to himself, and has big, bushy eyebrows?" the librarian finished, eyes narrowing slightly behind her glasses.

"Yes! I'm guessing you've at least seen him?" Jess hedged.

"Correct. I'm actually hoping you're here to _remove_ him; he's been here for the last forty-five minutes sitting in the back corner of the library. Be careful, he's been talking to himself as though carrying on a conversation with others." The only reason I haven't kicked him out yet is because he isn't disturbing any of the other patrons," the librarian explained, nodding to the farthest corner of the library.

"Thank you," Jess said, relieved that (unlike the last six places they'd visited), Arthur Kirkland had decided to remain here for more than fifteen minutes. Jess glanced at Murphy and asked, "Do you mind waiting here? I don't want to spook Mr. Kirkland."

"Not a problem, ma'am," he replied before turning to give the librarian a suggestive smile.

If Jess were lucky, then Arthur wouldn't notice the similarities between Murphy and one Francis Bonnefoy.

It wasn't hard to find Arthur. He was seated comfortably at a low oak table near a series of large open windows. Surrounded by small, meticulously organized stacks of books, he was reading (and apparently arguing over with his invisible friends) a book called _Crossing Boundaries: Inter-dimensional Travel and its Consequences_. If the muttered argument was anything to go by, Arthur was debating the inherent risks of crossing into and staying in an alternate dimension for a lengthy period of time. Jess made a mental note to keep an eye on Alfred, just in case he went to London again while Arthur was in the mood for magical experiments.

"Mr. Kirkland?" she asked softly, knocking on a nearby bookcase to get his attention.

Instantly, suspicious green eyes flew up to meet hers as he cut his own argument off, but softened when he recognized her. "Miss Norwood, please do sit down," he said, gesturing to the empty chair across the table from him. He pushed some books aside so they could see each other better as she sat down. "Now, how are you today?"

"As well as I can be, considering present circumstances," she replied with a smile. "And you? Did any book in particular catch your eye?"

"I am doing well. Once I was turned away from the U.N. building this morning, I decided to use this unforeseen opportunity to get some tea before continuing research for my latest project," he said, briefly holding up the book in his hands. "In the meantime, I am waiting for the git to call me back, idiot hasn't even turned his bloody phone on…"

"Well, we were just on a plane this morning, and I think he took a plane down to Virginia earlier today," Jess said, leaning back in her seat.

Arthur stared at her. "What the bloody hell is he doing in _Virginia_?"

Jess sighed. "It's part of a long story, one that I think I'll be explaining many times today. Short version of that part is that he wants to reconnect with an old friend of his, one he hasn't seen in several decades."

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "I will be very interested to hear _his_ explanation," he growled, setting the book down. He looked up to a patch of empty air to his right, and said, "Miss Dewdrop, if you would be so kind as to please write down these titles and authors so that I may peruse them at my leisure. Thank you, my dear."

"You know, you can check those out," Jess suggested as they both stood up at the same time.

"Miss Norwood, I think we both know that even _with_ nagging, Alfred will never return them on time," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes as he gathered his coat and phone. He started to reach for the books, but a few of the stacks started floating on their own, startling Jess. "My dear, you don't have to put the books back, I'll do that," Arthur said, reaching for the stack, which floated away from him. Scowling, Arthur said, "I do _not_ get confused over where to put a bloody book! I've been around for almost as long as you have and not _once_ have I ever made an error… that incident does _not_ count!"

"How about we let the faeries help you out a bit, hm? Director Fury really wants to see you," Jess said, carefully placing a hand on Arthur's elbow to drag him away; she could see a few nearby library patrons staring at them through the shelves. "Hey, have you called Alfred recently?" she asked, hoping to distract him.

"What? Oh, no, I did say that I was waiting for him to call _me_," Arthur said, allowing himself to be pulled away.

"I wouldn't hold my breath. The trick is that Alfred has to remember that he even has a phone to begin with," Jess said, pleased when Arthur finally moved.

"How did this morning's lack of meeting happen anyway? Did Alfred do it on purpose to dodge out of going?" Arthur asked irritably.

"Actually, no. It started as a miscommunication between Alfred and Fury, and because of it, all of the World Conference attendees are now wandering around New York City," Jess said, grimacing at the memory.

"Then I believe it is in our best interest to find everyone before the situation completely deteriorates. Director Fury asked Ludwig to bring Gilbert to keep him out of trouble," Arthur said briskly, straightening his sweater vest before walking ahead of Jess. He glanced at an empty patch of air and said, "Do me a small favor, Tinkerbell, and please locate Alfred and come back with his location. Thank you." To Jess, he said, "I suspect that Director Fury will feel more at ease once he starts locating us. Although I expect he will be able to catch the bloody 'Bad Touch Trio,' as they're so keen to call themselves, since he pulled it off beautifully back in March of 1990."

"That was when Fury found out about the personifications, right?" Jess asked as they approached the library exit, Murphy slipping into place behind them.

"Yes. I also _almost_ had a personal victory over the frog too, but Director Fury just _had_ to cave into the United Nations' demands and let the trio go," Arthur said as they left the library. "Then the bloody director was cheeky enough to _insinuate_ that he was quite aware of the depth of my personal relationship with Alfred. I couldn't very well punch him then for it either, seeing as his precious staff was practically swarming all over the bridge…"

"Well, Fury _is_ American, if that helps at all," Jess offered.

"You know what? It actually does."

* * *

><p>"Well, I have to admit, lunch was strangely anti-climatic," Clint Barton remarked as he and Natasha Romanov walked back toward S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters; Natasha could see the familiar glass doors.<p>

"Clint, most people _don't_ want to get food poisoning from pasta fettuccini," Natasha replied. "At least the new chef at _Ciao Bella_ can actually cook, unlike his predecessor."

"In that case, someone needs to change the restaurant name, seeing as the owners won't be saying, _'Ciao!"_ to their latest sick customer. And as an FYI, thrill-seekers love _Ciao Bella_ because one never knows if his lunch was going to do him in for the week. It's kind of like Russian roulette, except with food instead," Clint countered.

Natasha merely arched an eyebrow. Clint didn't know (nor would he ever) that there were faster, less suspicious ways of food poisoning a target, specific combinations of otherwise harmless ingredients that would send the victim to an early grave twenty-four hours or more after consumption. "Well, at least the misplaced lawsuits can finally stop coming in, I was getting sick of taking those from the lobby to Legal."

Clint shrugged. "Shows you how people view the legal hierarchy in New York. Even if S.H.I.E.L.D. is the biggest authoritative figure in the city, that doesn't mean that they handle simple food poisoning cases because of an incompetent chef."

"Now if, say, A.I.M. was deliberately poisoning customers either as an experiment or direct attack, then that would be different. _Then_ we'd get involved," Natasha said, pushing the doors open and walking into the building after Clint.

"They weren't there anyway, we would have known. They can't resist attacking two 'unarmed' S.H.I.E.L.D. agents no matter what, even if they're like us: dressed as civilians," Clint said. He glanced across the lobby and said, "Hey Daniel! How's it going?"

Out of reflex, Natasha glanced at the nearby S.H.I.E.L.D security escort, who at the moment was trying to scoot away from a curious polar bear. Daniel Murphy was standing near Johnson, as well as a young woman that Natasha didn't recognize. Then she made eye contact with a man she thought she'd never see again, causing her to stop dead in her tracks.

Arthur Kirkland.

The last time she'd seen the short-tempered, green-eyed Briton was during the 1963 London debacle, when she'd completed the assigned assassination. Kirkland narrowed his eyes as recognition settled on his features, and Natasha tensed, completely unsure of what to do. Yes, it was definitely Kirkland because she'd recognize those bushy eyebrows anywhere as long as she lived.

It usually took a lot to catch Natasha Romanov off guard due to her long years as a mercenary, a KGB agent, and finally a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. She was used to encountering opponents up and down the oddity scale, the most startling being a severely pissed Norwegian spirit that had been disturbed and was on the rampage. In the last few decades though, she hadn't encountered anything incredibly off-setting.

However, this had to be the first time she came face-to-face with a man she killed forty-three years ago in a city on the other side of the Atlantic from New York.

"Agent Romanov?"

Natasha jerked away from Kirkland to find Teresa standing there with a light frown. "Does Fury want something?" Natasha asked, feeling horribly exposed even though she could still partially see Kirkland.

"Yes. There's been a slight miscommunication this morning about a United Nations meeting, and as a result, the diplomats are missing. The director will explain once he sees you," she said, glancing over Natasha's shoulder. "He wants to see you as soon as you can."

"All right, thank you for telling me," Natasha said before promptly leaving the lobby – and Kirkland – behind. She walked toward Fury's office, trying to make sense of what she saw. A quick glance back at Kirkland confirmed that she wasn't hallucinating, but no, he was now talking amiably with the unfamiliar woman.

_But this isn't the first time that such an assassination appeared to have worked when it actually didn't, right?_

No, Kirkland hadn't been the first. But Natasha hadn't pulled the trigger the first time; she had still been a student then. Her instructor, however, had been tasked to assassinate a prominent Russian politician, and by default, his evening companion. The leader of the Soviet black ops programs, Major General Vasily Karpov, had felt threatened that a certain politician was too close and too loyal to the people rather than the Soviet Premier. There was always the concern that if the politician found out about the programs, he could have the ability to influence the Premier into shutting the black ops down completely, if only to protect the (sometimes unwilling) participants. Natasha's teacher, tasked with ending the threat, had shot both the politician and the companion in the back.

Unfortunately, the politician and his companion not only got back up, but also turned on Natasha and her teacher. Her teacher never said a word about the incident after, and the press blamed the Americans for the failed attempt.

Pushing aside the memories of ill-fated missions, Natasha found Fury at the command center, talking to an agitated Quartermain. The director finally shooed Quartermain away before turning around and spotting her. He gestured for her to come over, and she just _knew_ he couldn't have good news.

"I need to ask a small favor of you, Romanov," he said quietly, glancing warily over his shoulder at Maria Hill, who was berating another field agent.

"As long as it's within reason," Natasha replied, mindful to look anywhere other than at Fury; no need to add more rumors to the gossip pool. Her presence alone was doing that.

"You might like this one. Before I tell you, did Teresa tell you about our little mishap this morning?" Fury asked mildly.

"If you consider this to be 'little', then I don't know what it would take to provoke the Secretary – General into ordering your arrest," Natasha replied calmly.

"Trust me, I think we're getting to that point." Fury shrugged and then said, "I'm trying to recover the diplomats before the U.N. finds out about this. I want you to be my second – in – command for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s portion. Ms. Norwood is assisting me with the other portion of this recovery effort. Hill can't find out about this because the first person she'll tell is the President. Ms. Norwood, Mr. Jones, and I would all rather that Hill _didn't_ do that."

"I'm guessing that Ms. Norwood is the lady I saw downstairs with Mr. Kirkland?" Natasha asked, recalling the woman from before.

Fury arched an eyebrow. "You know Kirkland?"

"We've… met before." Although that was loosely accurate, seeing as she'd been staring down at him through a sniper's scope at the time. Glancing at Fury, she asked, "And Mr. Jones?"

"Alfred F. Jones. Works from the White House, has a bit of a hero complex –"

"And has blue eyes, blond cowlick, and glasses? Very loud?" Natasha interrupted, fighting back the sudden shock that was crawling up her spine again. She frowned and said, "Always has one person at his side, shadowing him?"

There was silence between the two of them. To his credit, Fury didn't look surprised. "Run into him as well during your 'travels'?" he asked quietly, keeping a casual façade for anyone watching the two of them now.

"Only once. He won't remember me though, I was only sixteen at the time and my surrogate father took care of business between us and the Allies," she said quietly, recalling that bitterly cold night.

"Oh? And when was that?"

She didn't answer right away. "December 10th, 1944."

Silence. Then Fury said, "I'm going to send you a list of the missing diplomats. Time means as much to them as it does for you and me. Don't worry about Jones, I've already got him covered. Stay in contact with not only me, but Ms. Norwood as well."

"Yes, sir." Natasha watched as he left to talk to Maria Hill before turning to leave herself.

Jones. She hadn't seen him in a long time, nor had she known him very well when she and her surrogate father secretly met Allied officers in Prague. Natasha's surrogate father, Ivan Petrovitch, said he'd located a secret Hydra base in the mountains using a carefully placed railroad to supply German troops without getting noticed. Jones had been there for that meeting, along with Jones's shadow, Captain America, Captain America's sidekick as well as a few others.

Seven Americans went out, only six came back.

One more name written in red on her ledger.

She didn't think she'd ever see Jones again after that fateful mission, so she hadn't let herself be affected much at the time. She'd thought he'd eventually pass away with time if war didn't get him first.

Natasha made a mental note to avoid both Kirkland and Jones for a little while.

Just for now, while she still had the advantage over them both.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Guess how the S.H.I.E.L.D. staff is going to remember Romano now… ;)**

**I feel guilty for poking too much fun at poor Matthew here… I'll try to make it up to him in _Stars and Stripes Forever_. **

**Vash's/Arthur's grudge against Fury: Stay tuned for the second spin-off _Bad Touch Chaos. _;) **

**Arthur's book: While not relevant to this story, there is another future project involving trans-dimensional travel. **

**Norwegian spirit: I guess Norway's trolls were acting up a little more than usual ;)**

**We'll see Alfred next chapter, don't worry :)**

**Also, let me know if there are any specific nations you want to see in Ch. 7 :)**

**I'll also try to get the next chapter out sooner, you won't have to wait almost three months again, sorry about that.**

**(Final) note: If you're interested, Round 2 of _Hetalia March Madness_ has begun! Check out my profile to see the story and then vote! **


	6. Reunion

**VI**

**Reunion**

* * *

><p>There weren't any sounds in Arlington National Cemetery except for a cool breeze blowing gently through the trees above, rustling leaves and causing shadows to dance across the gray granite of the last few gravestones that marked the invisible boundary line of the World War II markers. It was cool for mid-April in Washington D.C., or so he guessed from the coats his two S.H.I.E.L.D. escorts had chosen to wear that day.<p>

After all, this was Steve Rogers's first trip to Washington D.C. in sixty years.

It had been tricky at first, to arrange for a trip out of the state. The first (and biggest) hurdle had been S.H.I.E.L.D.'s chief physician, Doctor Sanderson; he'd refused at first to clear Steve for any kind of travel outside of New York City, citing potential physical issues that could develop, PTSD, and severe culture shock. Then the helicarrier had crashed into the Hudson during a massive prison breakout. Captain America nearly avoided the press catching sight of him; Spider-Man accidentally destroyed a building on the United Nations complex a few hours later, and Fury (unashamedly) directed media attention to Spider-Man to allow Steve to finally slip out of the state unnoticed.

After three days on the road, here he was in Arlington. Countless faces, hopes, personalities, _lives_, all of them, were gone and faded away to history textbooks and memory. Some names on the markers, he didn't recognize, but when he did, a face or memory or even both popped up in his mind. To Steve, it felt as though only one day had passed while he was in the ice, and all of his friends and brothers-in-arms had died in those twenty-four hours. It felt as though Bucky had died only a few weeks ago, not a few decades.

Not everyone was here. Fury was kind enough to provide files on SSR personnel. Chester Phillips wasn't here; instead he'd been buried in a family plot in Maryland. Howard Stark was buried in New York after a horrific car accident that took him and his wife. Brian Falsworth, the formidable hero known as Union Jack during the war, died in a car crash as well not too long after the war.

Two files that Fury had conspicuously left out were Peggy Carter's and Alfred F. Jones's. Steve hadn't been ready to face the possibility that Peggy might actually be dead as well, but Fury had promised to provide her file when he was ready.

However, Steve did ask for Alfred's file. Alfred, a close friend of Steve's, had abruptly vanished completely in early September 1945, almost a month after Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He hadn't been the only one; his half-brother and their small circle of Allied officers all vanished the same day without a trace. Alfred's records started with his birth – July 4th, 1917 – and ended September 6th, 1945, simply stating that Jones retreated from military life in order to recover from the war. That was it, nothing more.

If Fury couldn't find anymore, then the rest simply did not exist.

Steve leaned forward to study the marker in front of him. Robert Shaw, April 19, 1908 – April 18th, 1945. Quiet, but in the must-be-watched kind of way, extremely good at bluffing and cheating money or chocolate during cards with the Canadian paratrooper Jim Howlett. No one usually played with Shaw until they were ready to lose whatever they put on the table.

April 18th, 1945.

Steve knew that technically, he died that day too.

Releasing a sigh, he moved on to the last marker in the row, kneeling down in the grass. He felt his breath catch when he recognized the inscribed name:

_Michael J. Fellows_

_Cpt. _

_US Marines_

_World War II_

_March 17, 1912_

_December 15, 1944_

_Protected his Country to the End_

Between his name and rank, there was a carved round seal with an eagle in the middle, surrounded by thirteen stars. No words were present, but Steve hadn't expected any; there hadn't been any on the last three symbols he'd seen on previous markers. Two were from Vietnam War dead; one was from the Great War.

"Hey Mike, it's good to see you came home at last," Steve finally said, disheartened to find that his memories of the man were fading. Michael Fellows had been an odd case, even to rule-bending Sergeant Nick Fury; the man had had no defined place in the SSR hierarchy. He had been an officer, but had no command. Instead, he'd taken to staying at Commander Alfred F. Jones's side almost constantly, never stepping away for anything except for when he was not permitted to follow, such as to Jones's meetings with the other leaders.

Despite his apparent lack of noise and activity (he and Alfred had been complete opposites here), he'd still been an optimistic and friendly man. Even when he had only a few hours left to live in the early morning hours of December 15th, Mike somehow managed to keep Alfred smiling (although barely) until the end.

Steve had felt horrible about losing another friend. Then he saw Alfred's expression, and knew that for some reason, the pain ran a little deeper for Alfred than Steve anticipated.

"I kept my promise as best I could," Steve said finally, looking at the cold, uncaring granite. "Alfred… it took him a week to recover enough to properly lead again. I didn't realize though, at the time, how much of a role you played as peacekeeper between him and Sir Kirkland. I didn't realize either how much of a confidante to him you were either. Al never approached me, he seemed lost for a while and I don't know if he ever recovered completely from the shock." Steve paused, wondering if he should mention that he too had 'died' less than a year later. Maybe not. Alfred, Mike, Bucky, his comrades, all were gone now, and there was nothing Steve could do or say to bring any of them back.

_All I'm asking is that you keep an eye on Alfred, and make sure he isn't injured or that he doesn't do something extremely stupid. Be the voice of reason. Bail him out of trouble if need be. You'll know when it's time to step back._

Steve ended up bailing Alfred out of trouble frequently. Before Mike's death, Alfred had bickered lightly with his fellow officers. After The Mission, Alfred argued with the others more, often biting off more than he could chew. At one point, Phillips enforced peace by sending Jones and Kirkland to different posts across Europe.

That had been the state of affairs when Steve left on the fateful mission to Baron Zemo's fortress near the English Channel; Alfred and Kirkland feuding, Alfred hurting, and Steve unable to fix it all.

It was interesting, how one never realized another's role in life until the other person was gone.

"Ah, hell, what does he want now?" Sergeant Willis abruptly said softly, somewhere near behind Steve.

"Just tell him you're working and can't fool around right now," Steve's other S.H.I.E.L.D. escort, Amy Redding, said crossly, moving to block Steve's view as he turned to see what was ruffling his escorts. Redding glanced at Steve and said, "Our apologies for disturbing you, Captain. Merely following orders from Director Fury and preventing distractions."

"No worries, ma'am." Steve stood up, brushing dirt off of his knees. He tried to catch a glimpse of the newcomer, but Willis was blocking him now. "Let's go, I don't want to inconvenience another visitor, especially here."

"From what I can hear, I don't think he came here to visit the cemetery," Redding replied, hazel eyes scanning the area before settling back on Willis and the visitor. Shaking her head, she said, "Don't worry about it, Captain. The man is an acquaintance of Sergeant Willis's, and works here in D.C. and New York. No one to worry about."

"Does Fury know hi-" Steve began.

But Redding looked away from him, her finger pressed against a hidden earpiece. She pursed her lips for a moment, eyes flickering briefly at Steve. Finally, she sighed and said "Sergeant Willis says that the visitor, Mr. Jones, wants to talk with you when you wish to. Director Fury apparently has given Mr. Jones clearance for this," she said quietly. "Your call, Captain."

Steve glanced at Willis, who was still blocking Mr. Jones. While he didn't feel like talking about a war that happened so long ago for everyone else except him, he was also intrigued; was this Mr. Jones perhaps a descendant of Commander Jones? Jones was really a common enough last name that Steve knew he'd be jumping at shadows every time the name was mentioned. Most likely it was a coincidence. But either way, if he humored the man now, he could move on with everything else after. "I can talk to him now," he said, moving away from Michael's grave.

Redding pursed her lips in obvious disapproval, but nodded and relayed the message back to Willis. She listened for a few moments before glancing at Steve. "We'll be nearby in case you need anything," she finally said. She glanced back briefly before stepping away, presumably to join Willis. Steve meanwhile turned back to the man who was slowly approaching him.

At first, he was dumbfounded; even if he hadn't seen Alfred in a long time, he would still be able to recognize the commander anywhere. But, as Steve knew, even if Alfred did survive the last sixty or so years, he'd be well into his eighties now. This had to be one of his descendants then. The man approaching him could have passed for Alfred, except he looked older, slightly worn, and guarded in a way that Steve had never seen Alfred in. But that all disappeared as the man came to a stop in front of him, cautious hope tinged with sadness replacing the guardedness.

For a moment, both men stared at each other, not saying anything. Steve was at a disadvantage, and he hated that because it left him vulnerable. It meant that this stranger had to make the first move.

Finally, the man smiled softly. "It's been quite some time, Captain Rogers. Sixty years in fact," he said, blue eyes meeting Steve's own.

Even though the man was turning into a dead ringer for Alfred by the minute – voice was almost exactly the same – Steve knew it wasn't quite possible yet. Just because Fury and a few of his men pulled it off didn't mean that Alfred had had the means to as well. Instead of voicing or betraying his thoughts, Steve merely smiled politely and said, "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, sir."

The man snorted softly in amusement. "Ah, remember what I said the first time we met?" he said, the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Steve frowned, but before he could resurrect the memory, the man said, "Friends aren't formal with each other."

Steve stared at him, his brain scrambling to remember.

Then it clicked.

"_Alfred?_" he blurted.

Alfred F. Jones grinned broadly, reminding Steve of the man from the Brooklyn café at their first meeting, and then stepped forward and pulled a stunned Steve into a tight hug, which the other reciprocated despite the initial shock. _How did he survive and not age a day?_ At the moment he didn't care; relief and a semi-familiar happiness washed away the grief and for once made him hopeful about living again.

Besides, Steve suspected that Alfred's story was going to be different from Fury's.

"I – I don't believe it… how did you make it this long?" Steve stammered as the two parted and he looked Alfred over; other the weariness in the other's eyes, he looked exactly the same as Steve's last memory of him. "Fury said he and a few other Commandos pulled it off through semi-legal channels, did you do that as well?" he asked, lowering his voice when Alfred gestured for him to do so, glancing anxiously back at Willis and Redding.

"Actually, I didn't keep track of Fury after the war, we all kind of drifted apart," Alfred said. "It's a bit of a long story but the short version is no, I didn't do what he did. It's…" he began but faltered, his body sagging slightly as his eyes flickered unconsciously toward Michael's grave. Before Steve could reach out – to not only comfort Alfred, but confirm that he was actually there – Alfred turned back to face him. "This is going to be an odd question, but do you remember the day Mike died? In Kharkiv?"

How could Steve forget? "Yes, what specifically about it?" he asked quietly.

Alfred sighed and said, "Remember I wanted to tell you something important? Something that really only Mike knew about me, my brother, and the rest of us?"

"Yes, I remember. You were about to tell me when we heard from the others that the train was coming back with more Hydra officers, and we had to move on," Steve said, remembering that moment in startling clarity. It was the first time Alfred had spoken since Mike's death.

"Well, what I wanted to tell you, _still_ want to tell you, is the secret of how I lived this long without any Fury-esque gimmicks," Alfred said, glancing reflexively at Redding and Willis, who still had their backs to them. "But not here, it doesn't feel right to talk about immortality here."

Steve nodded, and caught a minute flash of _something_ in Alfred's eyes, something old and too complicated for Steve to ever hope to understand on day.

_How many people have you seen buried in this cemetery, Alfred?_

"Do you want to leave now or later?" Steve finally asked.

Alfred shrugged. "Your call. You came here, I don't want to interrupt your reflection time," he said. "I can go and wait by the cars, that won't be an issue."

Steve was quiet for a moment, scanning the rows of markers he'd just walked through for the last thirty-five minutes. "I think I found what I was looking for," he said. Gesturing for Alfred to follow as he said, "I've mostly been using this leave to find out what happened to everyone after the war. Your file said you'd just disappeared completely."

"I know. Fury kept poking around for me until President Eisenhower, two presidents after Roosevelt, threatened to kick him out of the country permanently if he kept it up. This happened in April of 1953… I didn't want to be found at the time," Alfred said as the two walked down the road back in the general direction of the parking lot. "I know it sounds confusing right now, but I promise it _will_ make sense once I tell you everything."

"Does Fury know what it is that you're about to tell me?"

"Yeah. He inadvertently coerced someone into telling him."

Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

The two didn't speak again until they reached the parking lot. The guards at the cemetery entrance briefly acknowledged them before resuming their work. To Steve, it felt as though some silent message had passed between the two guards and Alfred, but he didn't comment and Alfred didn't volunteer anything else.

"Jones! How did you even get here?" Redding asked once she and Willis caught up with them.

"Borrowed a car," Alfred replied, smiling innocently.

"Is it yours?" Redding demanded, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Uhh… yes and no. Technically, it belongs to a friend, but she said I could borrow it in an emergency," he said, glancing at a nearby parked vehicle; Steve wasn't familiar with the latest models to properly identify this one yet. "She knows that I have it."

Redding sighed. "Well, you can't blame me for being cautious," she said. She glanced over at Steve and asked, "Will you be all right with him? If you want, you can still come with us…"

"I will be fine with him, thank you, ma'am," Steve replied before slipping into the offered passenger seat. Shutting the door, he watched as Willis and Alfred exchanged a few quick words before Alfred turned and got back into the driver's seat next to Steve.

"Sorry about that, he wanted to know if we were going to lunch, and if so, where. I just told him to follow me," Alfred said, shutting the door and starting the engine.

"Where _are_ we going?"

Alfred shrugged. "I thought we could drive around a little while we talked, unless you want to eat now?"

"I'm good for now." Steve could tell that Alfred was anxious – they had fought together for almost three years, and he could still recognize the signs – and he wondered what could possibly unnerve Alfred so much that he would stall when it came to talking about something he clearly _wanted_ to talk about.

Alfred didn't say anything until they'd left the cemetery and were well on the way to the center of Washington D.C. Redding and Willis, Steve noticed, followed them close enough to keep them in view yet far enough not to give away the fact that they were valuable to any spectators.

"So… the trick to my survival," Alfred said, catching Steve's attention. He glanced at Steve and said, "Do you remember my half-brother? Sir Kirkland? Bonnefoy?"

"Braginski and Wang Iao. It drove Phillips crazy whenever you all locked yourselves into those meetings and left him out. That was why he changed the procedure for requesting supplies and made himself the only one who could authorize them. He'd wanted to make just a little harder for you to get supplies for the troops," Steve said, grinning faintly at the memory. "He always kept the men in mind, but being left out of strategy meetings was the reason he'd send the supplies to other officers and the few officials that were Kirkland's subordinates for distribution."

"Huh. I'd wondered about that. Did he ever suspect you when you started submitting my requests for me?"

"I think he was starting to catch on toward the end." Steve figured Phillips would have figured it out soon enough after he 'died'; with Steve gone, Alfred's attempts at subterfuge would have been exposed. "But, as you were saying about Sir Kirkland and the others?"

"This… this is something that really only the world leaders know about along with a select group of individuals. From the first day, I'd always been warned against telling anyone outside the leaders, and it's been quite a long time. Anyway, this secret isn't just mine, it's theirs – my colleagues' – as well," Alfred said finally, his eyes never leaving the road. "This is something that goes as far back as ancient Egypt."

Steve raised an eyebrow, frowning slightly, but didn't speak.

Alfred took a deep breath before he continued. "There's this thing called personifications. Each nation in this world is personified into one individual who embodies his or her people and characteristics. As long as the nation exists, as long as the people identify themselves with that nation, the personification exists," he said, glancing at Steve. "Meaning, there are some personifications that have lived for almost four thousand years."

"But appear to have never aged… aging slowly?" Steve murmured to himself. "Which means, following this and taking into consideration the original topic… you are one of these personifications, specifically that of the United States of America," he said, glancing at Alfred, who was grinning slightly now.

"Keep going," Alfred prompted, his attention now split between Steve and the road.

Steve frowned, but caught on almost immediately. "Your group of close colleagues and your half-brother were the Allied personifications. Which means that Sir Kirkland…"

"Is not only the guy who trained you, but fought against me during the American Revolution. Nobody lied when they said that Arthur was the most qualified officer to train you, he's got more experience at that then I did. He practically trained _me_ during the First World War," Alfred finished, starting to look nervous again.

Steve was quiet as he processed this, during which Alfred tried to rein in his anxiety. To Steve, while the whole personifications story sounded borderline crazy there were two factors that kept him from dismissing it altogether. One, compared to Hydra's usual machinations, personifications sounded relatively harmless, but believable. So it wasn't the weirdest thing Steve had encountered. Two, during the war, Alfred had never once lied to him – even when Steve reviewed his memories with a new light – and had no reason to start now.

"Why not mention this sooner?" he finally asked, glancing at Alfred.

"Tried. Stupid train interrupted me, and by the time we got back, I couldn't because there were too many other people who didn't know. Personifications are considered to be one of the best-kept secrets in this world. Mike only knew because it was his job," Alfred replied.

Steve nodded, remembering Michael's almost constant presence around Alfred. In this new context, it made sense now, especially the lack of hesitation on The Mission when he'd never been labeled as a target.

"Sometimes, I wonder why I didn't react faster than him that night, when we saw you spot the sniper," Alfred said finally, looking back at the road. I could have swept his legs out from underneath him or something…"

"You saw me, but it wasn't your fault, you were working with the medic to treat Izzy Cohen's gun wounds," Steve said, remembering the night in question. "And you were closer to the ground at the start, Mike probably thought it would be easier to knock you down the rest of the way and take a shot rather than take cover himself and assume that the falling darkness would cover you as well. You just happened to look up when I saw the sniper."

Alfred frowned, and Steve realized that sixty years' worth of memories had probably warped the actual moment in his head and remained that way long enough to convince Alfred that it was the truth.

A fresh perspective always helped.

"Doesn't changed the fact that I could have done _something_," Alfred finally muttered. Sighing, he said, "Sometimes, I wish I could change the clock back and change what happened. Not just with Mike, but with the others as well."

"Is time-traveling not a part of the job description?" Steve asked, attempting to lighten the conversation.

Alfred snorted, a grin flitting across his face. "No, only Arthur and the reps from Romania and Norway could do something like that. It's just that they don't have a 100% success rate with their magic, and I don't want to be their guinea pig. Been there, done that." He glanced at Steve and said, "And I mean literally. Mattie and I both have been on the receiving end of backfired experiments, all accidents of course. Arthur said that I was barely tolerable as a human because I talk too much, but he couldn't handle guinea-pig-me because I squeaked too much."

Steve grinned faintly, and then hesitantly remarked, "It sounds like the two of you are on better terms now."

Alfred nodded, but didn't add anything else. Instead, he said, "Hungry yet? I know a good place coming up," he said, glancing at a few highway signs that they passed.

"Sure. Where are we going?"

"You've heard of McDonalds, right?"

"Once or twice from some men from the west coast, but I've never been there."

Alfred glanced at Steve, eyebrow raised. "I see I have my work cut out for me," he said, grinning now. "We are going to have so much fun today," he added, with a growing grin as he returned his focus back to the road.

Steve could only wonder what Alfred meant by that.

Time to find out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

**Falsworth: In the Captain America film, it was James Montgomery Falsworth that served on the Howling Commandos. In the comics, Montgomery also fought, but as a costumed hero in World War I, and his son Brian fought with Captain America but as the hero Union Jack in World War II. For this storyline, I've decided to go with the comics on this because there are characters in the Union Jack stories that I would like to see in the future ;)**

**Jim Howlett: You all might know him as Logan, or Wolverine. :)**

**Kharkiv: A city located on the border between Ukraine and Russia.**

**McDonalds: Started in San Bernardino, California in 1940, but didn't start expanding everywhere until 1955.**


	7. Afternoon

**VII**

**Afternoon**

* * *

><p>The glowing green numbers on the dashboard clock read '2:15'.<p>

_He's fifteen minutes late, and I shouldn't even be here right now._

Sharon Carter drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, mindful that she did have a task that didn't include staring at the clock; she was searching for one of two Italian diplomats that went AWOL earlier that day, one named Feliciano Vargas. She'd sent an inquiry through… an unusual channel and was waiting for the response. Wondering if she should turn on the police scanner, just in case her contact managed to get himself arrested again, she checked her phone before setting it back in the cup holder. While the contact _was_ a wanted criminal, he was also relatively harmless, just one of those people who always managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He wasn't the most reliable of her contacts, just always the most _available_.

_Tap, tap, tap._

She flinched and then turned to glare at the source of the offending noise, but relaxed when she recognized the scruffy brown hair sticking out form underneath the worn baseball cap. Rolling her eyes, Sharon leaned back so he could see her unlocking the passenger door from the driver's panel.

"I'd like to point out it wasn't my fault that I'm late, there was a police arrest in progress right outside that little street café near Stark Tower. It was pretty nasty because S.H.I.E.L.D. was involved too. Some Dutch guy got caught with weed," the man said, slipping into the passenger seat. "Cops everywhere. It was like one of my worst nightmares coming to life."

"Rat, anything with cops is a nightmare for you," Sharon replied patiently. "Where to?"

"_Ciao Bella_. I found out that the guy you're looking for apparently invaded and set up camp in their kitchens this morning. Management is pissed as hell, especially since he's been there all day, telling the chefs what to do," Rat said, adjusting the stolen jean jacket underneath the seatbelt. "This help is gonna cost ya, you know."

"How's this. I'll keep you out of jail for another six months, and we call it even?" Sharon suggested as she eased the car into traffic.

"You ever take that attitude with Fury?"

"My time in the cold made me disillusioned, not suicidal," Sharon said, careful not to take her eyes off the road. "Now, anything else you want to tell me before I drop you off?"

"Uh… I bought a new house in Switzerland?"

Sharon glanced at him. "Legally?"

"Er, no. I won it in a game of cards in Madripoor. But the house is great. It's small, clean, safe for kids, and has this lovely view of Reichenbach Falls. Gorgeous. The best part is that the Swiss don't know it's there, so I have a place to go to when things get too dicey," Rat said, closing his eyes briefly. "Oh, and there's a bit of bad news that Rueshan sends along, said it was super-important that you got it."

Sharon nearly hit the brakes. "What? How bad are we talking? Rueshan hardly sends messages anymore…"

"That's because whatever he's got to say isn't that urgent. I mean it's only been two years since you left us to rejoin S.H.I.E.L.D., but Rueshan misses having you around. I actually think he's trying to bribe you into coming back…"

"Rat! The bad news! It's not my aunt, is it?"

"No. She's fine, even spotted the trail we had on her. Called the cops on them, we had to spring two of our guys out of Scotland Yard. My buddy and I had to wait until the Yard got distracted with this string of potential suicide bombers to spring our men out," Rat said, shrugging.

"_What?"_

"Relax, it's okay! There was just this nutter playing games with an unofficial amateur Yard detective. Scotland Yard, believe it or not, can handle crises on their own turf without S.H.I.E.L.D. interference," Rat said, his native Russian accent slipping through in his agitation. "The message that Rueshan wanted to pass along was that S.H.I.E.L.D. has a leak. Hydra got a female operative into the ranks somehow, Rueshan doesn't know who, how or where she is now, but he just saw a Hydra operative putting on a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. Granted, he saw it secondhand, but thought you'd like to know anyway. That was how they figured out that Captain America returned. Hydra threw something of a royal hissy fit when they found out."

Sharon remained quiet, trying to process all of this. "I think Director Fury was trying to keep Captain America's return a secret, the hidden ace, if you will," she finally said.

"Useless now. Entire criminal world is in a complete uproar because no one knows if it's the real deal, or if Hydra is overreacting like they did last month by 'clearing debts', if you get my drift," Rat said, shrugging.

"What happened last month?"

"Some guy deposed Baron von Strucker. First thing Hydra does next is root out a hidden pack of Soviet Union loyalists and drives them right out of their base. Talk about _business_, I haven't made this much money in _years_…"

"Rat," Sharon interrupted. "Wasn't it illegal weapons sales that got you into trouble in the first place?"

"Yeah, but the Winter Soldier ain't around to bust me this time," Rat said, grinning broadly as Sharon rolled her eyes. She pulled the car over to the curb and parked, but Rat didn't immediately get out. "Well, I located Vargas for you, so don't call me again for the next two years until your life depends on it." He started to get out, but then stuck his head back in. "One more thing. Rueshan wants your analysis on Captain America. Is he the real deal?"

"It's too early for an analysis, opinion, and first impression, but I'll keep it in mind," she said, pocketing the keys. "Going to call my teammates now, I'll have to uphold international law if they get here and you're still hanging around."

Rat scowled, flipped her off, and then stalked away, disappearing easily into the crowd.

"All units report in," Sharon said, getting out the car and pointedly ignoring Rat.

"_There's only two of us,_" Riley – still a greenshirt – said, his voice full of static.

"_It makes her feel important. Don't worry about it_," the other agent, Neal Tapper, replied.

Sharon ignored him. Instead, she said, "How fast can you guys get to _Ciao Bella?_"

A whimper from Riley. "_I kind of took a break from the search to get lunch. I'm, uh, just paying."_

"All right then, meet me out front, both of you." She rolled her eyes when she heard Tapper's grumbling before he signed off with a resounding _click_. Then she settled down to wait, leaning against her car and watching the passersby ignore her.

Riley came shuffling out of the restaurant a few minutes later and leaned against the car next to her, eyes downcast.

"Did you see Signor Vargas in there?" she asked after a few moments of silence between the two.

"Um, was I supposed to be keeping an eye out for him?" Riley asked, looking up at her.

Sharon sighed. "I'm sorry Riley, for not reminding you guys to get lunch. I was worried about missing an important appointment." She offered a small smile and said, "IF it's any comfort, I didn't know he was here either until about ten minutes ago."

"Then how did you know where to call us?" Tapper asked, walking around the car with a Starbucks cup in his hand.

"Just because Fury is _the_ ultimate spy doesn't mean he has the exclusive rights to network in New York," Sharon replied, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

Tapper raised an eyebrow. "Does Fury know about your networks?"

"Of course, I'm not that stupid," Sharon said coolly. "Now do you want to get back on task, or keep playing Twenty Questions and risk losing our quarry? The dossier on Feliciano Vargas says he has unparalleled danger instincts and will run at the first sign of trouble."

Tapper scowled, but stood at attention all the same. "How do we know that his brother won't be here?" he asked.

"I called the brother's recovery team leader. He says that the other Vargas twin is with the Spaniard, and they're both treating everyone on the street corner to an impromptu performance. No one's seen the German though, the one that Signor Vargas is attached to," Riley said, perking up at the thought of being useful again.

"Thanks, that's good to know. This is what we'll do," Sharon said. "Agent Tapper, guard the back door. No one is allowed out. I'll go to the managers and hopefully they can tell me where Vargas is."

"Wait, why do you get to go in after Vargas?" Tapper suddenly demanded.

"Because Vargas apparently finds women to be less threatening than men, and because I said so. No go, and when you get into position, call me. We can't let Vargas escape, we don't know how long it would take to find him again," Sharon replied.

Tapper hesitated, and then left.

"What if he comes my way? What if I don't recognize him?" Rat asked anxiously.

"Trust me, you will. I'll help you remember," Sharon said as her communicator chirped. "Thirteen here."

"_In position and ready._"

"Got it. Thank you, and be ready," Sharon said before hanging up. Glancing at Riley, she asked, "Ready?"

"No."

Sighing, she said, "Riley, you'll be fine. If you see someone running out of the restaurant, do whatever it takes to stop him. Got it?"

Riley nodded unhappily. "Yes, ma'am," he said, shuffling to his post. Sharon glanced down the sidewalk before entering the restaurant.

It wasn't hard to locate the owner and managers; there was a loud mix of Italian and Spanish spewing from the kitchens. The staff inside the dining room, as well as the few patrons Sharon could see, was doing their best to ignore the arguments. A few waitresses were waiting uncomfortably near the kitchen entrance, unsure whether to bring in their orders or note.

"Good afternoon… ah, S.H.I.E.L.D. How may I assist you?" the host said as Sharon approached the stand, his voice faltering when he spotted the insignia.

"Yeah, I'm looking for a man named Feliciano Vargas. He's about yea-high, from Rome, Italy, dark hair with a single hair curl-"

"Loves to cook?" the host interrupted, a sudden gleam appearing in his eye. "Has an unhealthy obsession with food?"

Sharon blinked. "Er, yes. Is he here?"

The host glanced back at the kitchens before walking around the podium and abruptly grabbing her uniform collar. "_Please get rid of him! _It's been nonstop shouting for several hours and I don't know _what_ the hell anyone is saying anymore…"

"All right, all right. Let go of me and I'll see what I can do," Sharon said, and relaxed once the host released her. "Now, I want you to inform your customers that the slight delay in service is about to be taken care of. Are the owners in the kitchen right now?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. Please do as I asked," Sharon said before stepping around the host. Heading toward the kitchens, she tried to translate the shouted words, but her rudimentary Spanish and Italian didn't help with anything.

The kitchen was a disaster zone; even S.H.I.E.L.D. recruits and full agents didn't make this much of a mess while on KP duty. Chefs were trying to work while a smaller chef bustled between stations, speaking in rapid and pleased Italian before moving on to the next station just as the manager and the two owners caught up. Pots and pans were rattled as people crashed or bumped into them. Oddly colored food splotches decorated the walls and ovens, some fresh, others a questionable age.

"Ah, _scusa__?_" Sharon said right as the small chef ran by. "Signor Vargas?" she tried.

The Italian came to an abrupt halt, deftly sidestepping his three pursuers as they tried to stop before a collision. "Ah, _buongiorno! Come si chiama__?"_ he asked, brown eyes lighting up in excitement.

Sharon had to take a moment to remember her words; he wanted to know her name. "_Buongiorno,__ Signor Vargas. __Mi chiamo Agente __Carter,"_ she said, introducing herself. Switching to English, she said, "I need to talk to you about something important." Remembering Fury's words to not spook Vargas or instigate another chase, she said, "Where I work, uh…" she hesitated, mentally kicking herself for not having an excuse prepared ahead of time.

"Are you going to get rid of him?" a woman, the owner's wife, demanded as she picked herself up from the ground. "Why haven't you gotten rid of him yet? You're S.H.I.E.L.D., _do_ something already!"

Sharon was glad she didn't work in Public Relations; she didn't have the patience for it. "Actually, I was going to ask if he wanted to help out where I work, our head chef took a nasty spill the other day, and we're not sure where to go from here because everyone has varied culinary preferences. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents can get unbelievably cranky if not fed on time." Well, all right, she was thinking of Wolverine specifically, but the point still stood.

Vargas still bought the lie, hook, line and sinker.

"Anything for the lovely lady!" he said, happily pulling off the white chef hat and coat. "How big is the kitchen I'll be working with?" he asked, looking up eagerly at her.

Sharon looked around the kitchen they were currently standing in. Honestly, she had no idea; the head chef, Alonso, was extremely sensitive about agents wandering in at random times of day and night looking for a snack, and even went as far as putting several locks on the kitchen entrances. She had no idea how he was going to react about an Italian interloper. "Well," she said finally, "I believe our kitchen is a bit bigger than this. Bigger staff too, more people to, ah, teach."

Feliciano Vargas simply beamed up at her.

As the two of them were leaving the restaurant, Sharon pulled Riley aside. "Call Agent Tapper and tell him we're all leaving. Ask him to check us into HQ," she said, careful to keep a friendly grip on Vargas's upper arm, just enough to deter him from escaping. "Finally, tell Fury that Alonso should take a couple days off, I promised Vargas free reign of the kitchens."

Riley stared at her in utter horror. "You told him _what_?"

"How else was I going to get him out of there?" she whispered back irritably.

"But I gotta eat!" Riley protested, following her and Vargas to the waiting car.

"Riley, I thought I just gave you orders."

* * *

><p>Branson resisted the urge to fidget.<p>

That morning had been… weird to say the least.

After acquiring a lovely battle ax (actually confiscated) from a Spaniard with a little vengeful Italian partner, Branson had stowed his prize away before going to teach his class only to find that all classes were canceled until further notice. Then, on his way back to his apartment, Agent 44 from Security called first to ask if he wanted in on any of the still running betting pools (which Branson declined). The second reason 44 called was to ask if he could speak Spanish, Italian, or both. After replying with 'neither', 44 told him that he was still being reassigned to the Spaniard/Italian diplomats recovery team anyway; the last trio had had a nasty run – in with a crazy albino German who seemed intent on protecting his buddy.

Of course, it was just his damn luck that it was the crazy duo from _Ciao Bella_ earlier that morning.

"If we're going to make a move, it should be soon," Daisy Johnson whispered, standing close as though they were a couple.

"Hm?" Branson didn't quite acknowledge here, he was enraptured by Antonio Carriedo's guitar playing; the Spaniard and the Italian were found on a nearby street corner, surrounded by and watching the show with other pedestrians as Carriedo continued to serenade Vargas, who was doing his damnedest to keep the scowl firmly fixed on his face. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" Branson asked, glancing down at Daisy, who sighed.

"I _said_ if we're going to make a move, it should be soon. The man across the intersection from here has been amassing his own group of followers for the last ten minutes, and if a riot breaks out, two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents will be useless in controlling the situation. We'll be down before the police arrive to back us up," Daisy whispered, nodding to a man standing on a box, holding up a large placard while people surrounded him. All were shouting across the intersection.

"Think you can give them a nudge if push comes to shove?" Branson muttered.

"No. It would give the Friends of Humanity more ammunition at their next anti-mutant rally," Daisy said. "Already risked it this morning when I shoved Murphy Daniels just after an MRD truck drove by."

"What was Daniels doing?"

"Pursuing an uninterested party. So, the usual."

"And the lucky lady?"

"Federal agent. White House level."

Branson grimaced. "Not a good idea." Sighing, he turned back to the Spaniard and the Italian. "I have to talk to them, don't I?" he asked, trying not to sound exhausted.

"Well, _I'm_ not going to talk to them, I'm already on crowd control," Daisy said before moving away, keeping an eye on both groups.

How the hell was he going to even get the Spaniard's attention? Carriedo had a goofy grin on his face as he moved seamlessly into the next song, and Branson felt a little bad about interrupting. The encounter earlier that morning had taught him that Carriedo was easier to deal with than the Italian… Little Lovi, as the S.H.I.E.L.D. staff affectionately called him now. Branson didn't really know what he had that he could use to bribe the Spaniard into coming with him. Using Little Lovi as bait was completely out of the question: that would require getting close to the Italian, and if Little Lovi didn't kill him first, then Carriedo would.

"Might want to do something soon, people are getting restless," Daisy said.

"I know, I know, I'm trying to think," Branson said, thinking fast, trying to remember what he knew of Carriedo. What did he have that –

_Of course_.

"Daisy, who are the mortal enemies of the Spanish?" Branson asked, thinking quickly.

"Historically, it was the English they had beef with," Daisy replied.

"I thought it was the French who hated the English," Branson said, glancing at her.

"If the countries of France and Spain were people, they'd be the best of pals because of all the crap that a person – England put them through."

_All right… here goes nothing._

Stepping onto a nearby crate, he waited for the last few notes of the current song before yelling, "Carriedo!"

A loud squawk came from the guitar as Carriedo struck the wrong note, earning groans and yells from his audience. Little Lovi was definitely genuinely irritated now; the deepening scowl spoke volumes about his shift in mood. Making sure that both could see him, Branson yelled, "Carriedo! Remember me?"

Judging from Carriedo's expression, he didn't. Understandable, as Branson had been wearing his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform when he confiscated the axe, and changed into civilian clothing later in the day so he could go home and relax. He hadn't had a chance to change since then.

Little Lovi, however, was faster than his Spanish partner. "It's that American _bastardo_ who took your stupid axe this morning, _idiota__!_" he screeched, snapping the Spaniard out of his confusion.

"Yeah! And I gave it to an _Englishman!_" Branson shouted, trying to sound like the stereotypical rebellious teenager who thought he just did something cool only to regret it later. It was all a part of the act.

If Carriedo's darkening expression was anything to go by though, 'regret it later' was going to be 'regret it sooner' and Branson's little stunt was going to the top of his 'Top Ten Stupid Things I've Ever Done' list.

"You gave my axe… to _Inglaterra__?_" Carriedo asked very softly. Branson was grateful that the spectators had fallen silent for this part of the show; he had to strain to hear Carriedo.

Behind him, Daisy frowned.

"Yes… I did?" Branson said after a moment. He'd never bothered to learn Spanish beyond swears (courtesy of the men and women he'd trained) because he'd known he was never going to go into international fieldwork. Carriedo's last word escaped his comprehension. "What did I just sign up for?" he whispered to Daisy as Carriedo began to steadily pack up the guitar, the Italian twitching near him.

"Your execution, if the Spaniard's barely – controlled temper is anything to go by. You might want to start running now, while they're still dealing with the guitar," Daisy replied as the crowds, no longer spellbound, began to move again.

"Yeah, but I – "

"_¡__Victoria para España__!_

Branson still didn't know what Carriedo said, but the war cry was enough of a warning.

He ran.

* * *

><p>"How long does it take for three people to have sex?"<p>

Sergeant Rushman didn't blink as recruits Amelia Sanders choked on her iced coffee and Max stopped fiddling with his communicator long enough to stare at Rushman in shock. The three were huddled underneath the second story window of one Francis Bonnefoy, whom had two women with him when he'd disappeared inside. Rushman, unwilling to deal with the Frenchman any longer than absolutely necessary (especially after that morning's groping episode), had pulled the two recruits into the shrubs to lie in wait for the women to leave before climbing into Bonnefoy's window for an ambush.

Amelia spoke first. "Sergeant, we don't usually talk about stuff like that," she said finally. "_But,_" she added, holding up a hand to forestall protests, "But the answer to your question is 'I don't know'."

"Now was that so hard?" Rushman asked, glaring pointedly at Max, whose face was still a bright pink.

"You know, just because two women walked in with him doesn't necessarily mean he's going to have sex with them," Amelia said before sipping her coffee.

"Says who?"

"Oh God, I am _not_ having this conversation again, especially with my commanding officer," Amelia said, burying her face in her hands.

"I've only ever had the Talk with my parents when I was fourteen," Max remarked.

Rushman tuned them both out. It was just his luck that he was stuck looking for the infamous pervert while dragging along two liabilities/responsibilities. Either Fury had been in a vindictive mood that morning, or Fate was just that cruel to him, handing him this target. It was also same target that had tried to feel him up that morning while he was arguing with Sitwell over the legitimacy of Sealand as a country.

Sealand was nothing but an _English_ sea fort. One that S.H.I.E.L.D. _had_ been considering buying from the current leader to use as a military post. Fury may have lost interest in buying it and scrapped the project, but so far Hill hadn't yet. Either way, it was not a country, a territory, or anything of the sort.

Other recovery teams, as Rushman heard, were having mixed results of their own. While a team (of _five!)_ nearly got decimated, another group were mired in negotiations with NYPD because their charge was caught with illegal substances on his person. Sergeant Branson had acquired a lovely battle-axe that morning (as if he wasn't dangerous enough without it), and Agent Koenig, one of Fury's old teammates, and his team were taking it easy until tonight, when one of his leads became active. The team looking for the Canadian diplomat weren't having any luck, and a group of seven was scouring the shopping districts for the Baltic diplomats as well as the Polish representative.

It was as though the entire United Nations had decided to wander around New York City just for the hell of it. Absolute chaos.

Not for the first time, Rushman was glad he didn't have Fury's job.

"Wow, they look pretty. No wonder Bonnefoy chose them," Amelia said enviously, catching Rushman's attention. "That wasn't very long, was it?" she asked, looking away from the retreating pair of women who'd left the hotel without Bonnefoy.

Max shrugged. "Not really, it was only thirty minutes," he replied as Rushman stood up. "Uh, Sarge? What are you doing?" he asked as Rushman moved to stand under Bonnefoy's window. "He might get the wrong idea if he catches you doing that."

"Let him. I'm here to arrest him and drag him back to H.Q., not love him," Rushman said, gesturing irritably for Max to join him. "Cup your hands with mine, we're going to boost Amelia up. She'll break into Bonnefoy's room, jump him, and then hold him until we get up to finish it up. Amelia, if he's in the nude, restrain him and throw a bed-sheet on him."

"Thanks for asking if I wanted a say in the decision to be the one who has to grab him," Amelia snapped as she braced herself on the men's shoulders. After silently counting to three, she hoisted herself up, using their heads to steady herself. "Guys, I can't reach his window."

"Okay, _carefully_ step onto my shoulders," Rushman ordered.

"Better have a sob story ready in case he catches you," Max whispered as Amelia gingerly stepped onto Rushman's shoulders, still straining to reach the window.

"He's probably asleep anyway," Amelia retorted before she pulled out a small lock-pick kit to start working on the window.

"Oh, _bonjour, __chérie_."

Rushman froze as Amelia made a strangled sound in the back of her throat: so much for Bonnefoy being asleep.

"You're… you're not Danny," Amelia stammered; Rushman silently applauded her acting skills.

"He's not dressed either, he's got one of those hotel bathrobes on. I think he was in the shower, his hair is wet," Max whispered, looking both impressed and horrified at the same time.

Bonnefoy either didn't see or hear them, or didn't care that they were there. "And who is this Danny?" he asked, and Rushman tried not complain aloud when Amelia leaned away from Bonnefoy.

"Danny is my ex-boyfriend, he, uh, lives out of state and was kind enough to fly in to break up with me in person. I thought we were going to be together forever because we'd dated for almost five years," she said. "I'm so sorry, I thought this was his hotel room, and I wanted some petty revenge."

"Ah, it is all right. In fact, allow me to help you in, I believe I can help you… recover," Bonnefoy said, and Rushman almost snorted aloud when he felt Amelia's weight disappear from his shoulders. Bonnefoy was practically helping them without realizing it!

"And gentlemen, you will have to be patient for your turn," Bonnefoy said, a smirk visible when Rushman looked up in alarm. "I know my manners well enough to allow the lady her turn first."

"What the –" Rushman began, a knee-jerk reaction, but Bonnefoy shut the window before he could finish his sentence.

There were a few moments of silence between the men. "I didn't know she had a boyfriend," Max finally said, looking up at the window.

"Well, even if she did, he really is going to be an ex-boyfriend when he hears about this," Rushman said, sitting down again. Who knew how long Amelia would be up there and call them?

"Do you think he was serious? About us?" Max asked, sitting down next to him.

"I don't know, and if he was, I'm not interested," Rushman said crossly, pulling out his communicator. "I'm going to call the other team leaders, see how they're doing."

The reports were slightly better than they were earlier. Agent Tavalrez emerged victorious from his argument with the police, and the Dutch diplomat was now with them looking for his sister from Belgium. Branson was holed up in his quarters in S.H.I.E.L.D., too terrified of a pissed Spaniard to come out; other agents were still trying to mediate that fight. Koenig, the lucky bastard, was exploring Brooklyn at his leisure with his team while they waited. Carter reappeared briefly long enough to drop off her Italian charge before disappearing again. Quartermain, who'd been sent out on an errand to Stark Towers after he completed his mission, accidentally walked into a lovers' spat between Tony Stark and his secretary and got dragged into it. Agent Jimmy Woo had been hot on the trail of his target when Thunder Fireworks, a popular fireworks company in the Northeast, reported that a large chunk of their stock disappeared and demanded an immediate recovery. Finally, someone on security duty was watching a polar bear that had taken up residence in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters and would occasionally follow the English diplomat around.

This was without the daily threats of Hydra and A.I.M. factored into the director's schedule of problems.

Rushman had no idea how Fury could keep a level head right now.

"Hey, Sarge."

He looked up to see Max peering through the bushes. "What is it?" he asked.

"Bonnefoy _left_. And Amelia's just _standing there_."

"Where?" Rushman tried to seek out the third member of their group, but there were too many people around the hotel entrance now.

"Right there. In front of the doors."

Sure enough, Amelia was just standing there in front of the revolving glass doors, looking slightly dazed and unaware of the people around her. She seemed fine otherwise, Rushman decided as he and Max rushed over to her. But he wasn't a doctor, so he didn't know for sure.

"Are you all right? What did you guys _do_?" Max demanded as soon as they were all within earshot of each other.

"We just… talked. He helped me get over my ex, he was really nice, and we talked about his partner, had coffee, and then he said he had to go find 'Mathieu' so we walked downstairs. Then he kissed my hand, and then just… left. If he already didn't have someone, I would have tried harder to get his attention," Amelia said finally in a sort of dreamy tone that made Branson feel sick.

"Did you ask _where_ he was going? So we could follow?" he asked, swallowing down a wave of nausea.

Amelia looked confused. "What?"

"Did. You. Ask. Him. Where. He. Was. Going?" Rushman growled, feeling the frustration begin to bubble under his skin.

Amelia looked embarrassed when she finally realized what he was asking. "Erm, no. His voice was really distracting, but in a good way," she admitted, her face turning a slight pink. "So… no. It didn't even occur to me to ask."

Rushman groaned and palmed his forehead. HE really should have seen that coming.

Well, nothing to do now but keep hunting.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **

**Neal Tapper: Not sure how many of you are familiar with him, but he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who appeared in _Captain America: Winter Soldier_ as Sharon Carter's ex-boyfriend.**

**Rueshan and Rat are my original characters. **

**Friends of Humanity: An anti-mutant group in the Marvel universe. This is their only mention at all in this story.**

**Next chapter with the nations will have: Russia, Belarus, Germany and Prussia, and France.**

**Also, are the chapters too long for you guys?**


	8. Time

**VIII**

**Time**

* * *

><p>Birds twittered overhead as both Alfred and Steve navigated the steady stream of tourists down the length of the Reflecting Pool from the Lincoln Memorial. The two had been discussing the years immediately following the conclusion of the Second World War – Steve explained that Fury had given him something of a crash course, but he still felt that Fury had deliberately left details out.<p>

"Well, we were trying to get our feet back on the ground after the war, Fury included. Ivan, er, Russia, wasn't making things any easier. President Roosevelt knew how to get along with Churchill and Stalin, but his successor, President Truman, had a bit of a rough time. Not that he'd ever admit that aloud," Alfred said as he nudged Steve to a nearby bench, where they could sit comfortably and conduct their conversation undisturbed. Steve's S.H.I.E.L.D. escorts, Alfred noticed, didn't seem to notice them sit down as the two walked past only to settle on a bench a little ways away.

"Is it hard, having to adjust to a new President every four to eight years?" Steve asked, drawing his jacket closer as though to hide the military dress uniform he was wearing from the eyes of the curious tourists walking past them.

"Depends on the political atmosphere at the time. Elections got more and more cutthroat time after time, they still do in fact," Alfred replied, grimacing at the thought. He hated to think what was going to happen in the next eight to twelve years if the pattern held. "The current President though, he's a good guy. He's trying hard to keep everyone happy, but even I'll admit that it's a challenge because there are so many more issues to contend with, and that's not including foreign matters. To be honest, I have this sneaking suspicion that he's leaving those to me and the U.S. ambassadors," Alfred said after thinking it over for a few minutes.

"Fury did mention that we were at war in Iraq, even went into a brief explanation of the events leading up to it," Steve said quietly, looking out across the Reflecting Pool. Shaking his head, he said, "I should have been there to stop all of this, or at least help with the aftermath…"

Alfred could only guess at what he was talking about. "No one, not even me, knew what was going to happen that day, there was nothing you _could_ have done," he said quietly, feeling the ever familiar echo of pain in his heart at the thought of that infamous September day.

"But the recovery effort…"

Alfred nodded. He still was slightly frustrated himself because he'd been in an hospital in Washington D.C. during the initial response and the ensuing aftermath, having collapsed during a meeting with several ambassadors and two other personifications – Matthew and Francis – at the time it happened. "I couldn't do much for the recovery effort either at first," he admitted. "To the other ambassadors I'd been in the company of at the time thought I'd had a heart attack or something. Francis and Mattie couldn't correct them either, they just knew something drastic had happened."

"Who other than the president knows about the personifications?" Steve asked, frowning as he looked at Alfred. "It must be tricky to get things done if not many people know."

"True, but it's also about _who_ knows. For example, we, the personifications, can get away with a bit more without S.H.I.E.L.D. accidentally interfering because Fury knows, as do some of the original Commandos. Fury had found out by accident back during the nineties, when he tried to arrest Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert for making a mess of things at a few European S.H.I.E.L.D. outposts," Alfred said, leaning back against the park bench.

"Francis? Is he still seeing 'Madeleine' Williams?" Steve asked, glancing over at Alfred, who nodded.

"Arthur's opinions in regards to 'Madeleine's' choice of partners apparently didn't matter very much in the end, it drove him crazy to no end, just because he didn't, and still doesn't, like Francis very much," Alfred said, grinning faintly at the memory. Stretching slightly, he said, "The two of them still work together pretty well, so I have no reason to complain. Yet."

Steve seemed to hesitate on his next question, inadvertently causing Alfred to panic a little on the inside; he scanned his memory for something he might have forgotten to mention or clarify. Before he could find it, Steve asked, "Is it still… socially unacceptable for the two of them to be together as they are?"

That threw Alfred for a loop. What was he – oh, did he figure it out? "Wait, did you figure out who 'Madeleine' was?" he asked, glancing warily at his friend, unsure if his friend was still in the 1940s 'mindset' so to speak.

To his surprise, Steve nodded. "It wasn't obvious at first, but once I knew what to look out for, I could tell. Bucky figured it out first, he was constantly spying on Arthur, Francis, and Matthew while we were all still at Camp Lehigh. He thought for some time that they were undercover Nazi or Hydra spies. But once he said something, I knew what signs to look out for."

"And you never said anything?" Alfred said, looking impressed.

"Why would I? There was nothing to say," Steve countered. "I think General Phillips knew too, but the most he ever expressed about it was when he yelled at you and Arthur in those first few weeks, when you were fighting. Remember he said, 'If I could, I'd throw the two of you into a room and not let you out until then'."

"You know what? That makes so much more sense now, I thought he reacting to something Francis did to him earlier," Alfred said, replaying the scene in question over his head. "Because Francis was looking pretty smug when Phillips left…"

Steve laughed. "I think you all put Phillips through the wringer for the first couple of weeks. Fury didn't help either."

"No, no he didn't."

"Of course, I've been trying to put everything I remember from the war into context whit what you've told me about personifications," Steve admitted.

"If it makes it any easier, just take foreign politics into consideration as well," Alfred suggested. "But you're okay with that? With what we were just talking about?" he asked, schooling his expression into one of professional curiosity, because he knew Steve's decision could swing either way.

"Why wouldn't I be? Love is love, no matter what form it takes," Steve said, looking as though he was trying to gauge Alfred's reaction. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason, just curious. People are more open about it now, but some haven't changed," Alfred replied, lowering his voice for a fraction of a moment as a small group walked by their bench.

"Speaking of Phillips, did you ever see him after the war ended?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. I thought he'd forgotten me by now, so I went to go see him a couple months ago," Alfred said, grimacing at the memory. "He… remembered me all right."

"That bad?"

"He… yelled. And swore. I was worried, as were the two nurses there, that he'd do something to worsen his health. But then he calmed down and said, that he should have expected that sort of thing from me, seeing that Fury was still young and all," Alfred explained, and Steve nodded. "The whole personification thing is sometimes tricky to work around, but I lucked out and had an excuse this time."

"Since you explained that thing about your mortality, does that mean you were never in any real danger while you were out on the battlefield?" Steve asked.

"Steve, my people were dying. You remember that. The people are our lifelines, if they fade, so do we. Then there were the Japanese troops attacking my Pacific islands, and you definitely remember Pearl Harbor. I was never really up to full performance during World War Two," Alfred said quietly.

Steve arched an eyebrow. "Could have fooled me. Remember when we captured that high – ranking Nazi official, Ludwig Beilschmidt? The two of you really went at it when you got the drop on him," he pointed out.

"That's because since we were both at war, we had equal footing. Ludwig was – _is_, the personification of Germany," Alfred said, raising up a hand to forestall any of Steve's reply that he knew was coming. "We've made our peace now, but he's not proud of that part of his past at all. I don't know if he remembers you, but it's just one of those things we've agreed to let it be."

"Understood." Steve let a small flicker of a smile cross his face. "Thanks for giving me the heads – up."

"No problem."

"If Ludwig is a personification though," Steve said slowly as a thought occurred to him. "Then is it safe to assume that the two prisoners we had before him, Gilbert Beilschmidt and Feliciano Vargas, are personifications as well?"

"Yeah, that's primarily why Arthur managed to secure responsibility for the prisoners of war, in case another personified nation came through the system. No awkward questions would be raised. Anyway, Feliciano is the personification of _northern_ Italy; his twin brother Lovino is the personification of the southern half. Gilbert, Ludwig's brother, is a little tricky because he's already switched representation more than once. Around the time you met him, he had no country to represent since he had technically been dissolved; he used to represent Prussia. After the war ended, he became known as East Germany," Alfred explained, watching for his friend's reactions. "How much do you know about post – war Europe?"

"Just that the Iron Curtain divided Europe in half, the West were the capitalists and the East were the communists. I'm still reviewing all of that with some of Fury's subordinates." Leaning forward, Steve asked, "What happened to Gilbert when the nation of Germany reunited in the nineties?"

"Nothing, really. He's still around, lives with Ludwig when he's not causing a ruckus somewhere else. Wang Iao, er, China, thinks that Gilbert is still alive because there are still people who identify themselves as East Germans," Alfred said, shrugging.

"If it's not too personal, what happens when a nation is formally dissolved, but there isn't another, er, tract of land that needs representing?" Steve asked.

Alfred remained quiet for a few moments, trying to remember if Arthur had ever told him what happened in such a case. Most likely not, because when Alfred had been learning about himself, Arthur had still believed that the colony of British America would never need to worry about disappearing, and he'd still been at the height of power himself. "I honestly don't know, Arthur didn't think it was important at the time he taught me about all of this," he said finally. "Gilbert, Feliciano, and Iao are really the best ones to talk about something like that. They'd know for sure because they've all witnessed it at some point. But take it easy with them, the fate of dissolved nations isn't something that we usually feel comfortable talking about, especially to former enemies or otherwise complete strangers."

Steve nodded in understanding. He was no doubt well familiar with the subconscious desire to avoid topics such as inevitable death, especially in a war zone and also since it was an extremely personal topic.

"So if Sir Kirkland is the personification of England, do you think he'd know what happened to Agent Peggy Carter? I… I just want to check on her, make sure she led a happy life after the war," Steve admitted, the last words disappearing into a mumble as he looked away as though in embarrassment.

Alfred nodded, remembering the young British intelligence agent in question. He'd lost track of her not too long after the war's end, hadn't even thought of her too much because she was Arthur's, not his. At the time, Alfred most certainly hadn't expected Steve to come back to life sixty years after the war, so he just hadn't bothered. "Yeah, Arthur is your best bet. However, I think she also had extended family here in the U.S., but I don't know for sure."

"She did. Her brother moved to Virginia after the war, I met her nephew, Harrison Carter, earlier this morning. He said that his daughter, Peggy's grand – niece, works for S.H.I.E.L.D., and that they'd thought I was here to deliver bad news about their daughter. My 'shadows' made them think that something was horribly wrong," Steve said, nodding to the two agents sitting not too far from them.

Alfred grimaced. "Oops. Did you ask about Peggy?"

"Yeah. Mr. Carter, the nephew, got strangely defensive about it, he wouldn't give me a straight answer," Steve replied. Looking down the path, he asked, "So how long did it take for you and Kirkland to make your peace? Last I knew, you couldn't be in the same room without killing each other."

"It… took time, it took a little time and patience, and we settled everything after the war ended. By that point though, Russia had already claimed a good chunk of Eastern Europe and we, meaning France, England, and me, just barely managed to convince Stalin and Ivan to keep the Iron Curtain where it was. France wasn't in any condition to protect himself if Russia kept pushing for total dominance of the European continent," Alfred said, keeping his voice low just in case. "Really, it was me against Russia for the most part. I don't think I've ever been that afraid for that long before."

"I think even General Phillips found Ivan Braginsky intimidating, he just never showed it around Braginsky," Steve said.

Alfred shrugged. "I always saw it as 'instinctual wariness'," he said.

Steve snorted. "_Bucky_ had instinctual wariness of Braginsky. Although, now that I think about it, I wonder if he'd known all along there was something unusual about you and your colleagues. When Monsieur Bonnefoy, Sir Kirkland and Williams arrived, Bucky had told me that all three were planning to kill someone, but as it turned out, they were hiding another secret instead. Bucky never brought it up again, but he always gave Kirkland a wide berth."

"Yeah, I remember that. That had to have been the first true test of Phillips's patience with his new command. I thought he was going to skewer someone right there and then," Alfred said, grinning at the memory.

Steve smiled faintly. "Remember when we were on the borders of the Black Forest in southwestern Germany? And Bucky and Toro got Eric Koenig to tell those ghost stories?"

"And then the ghosts attacked my tent that very night, _please_ don't remind me!" Alfred protested, shuddering.

Steve tried to stifle a laugh but failed. "Alfred, I already told you that those weren't ghosts, it was just Bucky and Toro messing with your mind."

"No, I'm pretty sure those were legit ghosts, Arthur said so once we all got back to base," Alfred countered.

"Yeah, but like I said earlier, you two hated each other at that point. I think he would have told you _anything_ to make you panic even more," Steve reminded him. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it was Arthur was the one who gave Bucky and Toro the idea in the first place."

Alfred frowned as he thought this over. "Remind me to ask Arthur when we get back to New York, I want to know for sure now. He'd tell the truth now, since we're on better terms…"

"That's good to hear, I was getting worried about you two," Steve said, grinning. HE paused, and then said, "You know, Fury mentioned something about the Anglo – American alliance…"

Alfred groaned. "He mentioned that? Oh, what am I saying? Of course he'd mention that, he's been teasing me about that ever since he found out about the personifications. He _knew_ I'd come looking for you once I found out you were back. He's either a telepath or clairvoyant," he said, shaking his head.

"If he was clairvoyant, he wouldn't be coming up with a backup plan for every little thing that could go wrong during a mission," Steve pointed out. "I wouldn't be surprised if he still did that even now."

"I wouldn't know, he doesn't let me hang around the helicarrier very much," Alfred said, shrugging. "Although, if he really was clairvoyant, he should have been able to stop the deaths of several key Western politicians, including one of my senators." Glancing across the Pool, knowing that if he closed his eyes he could still recall the day Baxtor had been found dead, Alfred let out a breath through his teeth. "There was a Russian assassin, who was more of a Cold War boogeyman because he was so good at covering up his tracks. Made murders look like accidents or suicides. He targeted Arthur and Francis on two separate occasions, and Mattie was the only one who saw him. His words nearly started a fight because he said that the guy looked like one of my own people. But the point is that Fury never really believed this guy was for real, but we knew he was. Ivan can deny it all he wants, but I _know_ the assassin existed. Mattie is really the only other person who believes me."

"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Fury is lying? That's not something he'd keep a secret unless he was going to do something about it already," Steve pointed out. "Especially if this guy has already tried to kill Kirkland and Bonnefoy."

"I know, I know. It's just that the assassin's spree seemed to end in the 1980s, but I still think he had something to do with Howard Stark's death, it seemed like foul play at the time…" Alfred said, standing up as a familiar agitation began to course through his veins for the first time in a long time.

"Whoa, easy there. Alfred, from what I understand, the Cold War's over, take it easy," Steve said, standing up as well.

"I know… I still get carried away sometimes, sorry." Alfred glanced down the path before he asked, "You think Fury would tell me if I asked? About what he knows of the Russian assassin?"

"No, he'd deny it until kingdom come," Steve said with such blunt honesty that Alfred found himself grinning despite the negative answer. "But he'd at least know you're interested, which might make him more inclined to let you in the loop if he heard anything new," Steve added.

Alfred nodded, acknowledging Steve's point. Gesturing with his head for Steve to follow him, he said, "But enough about me. What about you? How have you been settling in?"

Steve shrugged with one shoulder as the two men began walking again, away from the Lincoln Memorial. "It's going, I suppose. After I fell from the buzz plane, I thought I'd died for real. I guess I dreamed that I was in heaven, now that I look back on it. So when I woke up again… it was a jarring return to reality. I thought the worst case scenario would be that I was in a coma for several months," he said. "Since I didn't recognize the men standing over me, or their uniforms for that matter, I thought we'd lost the war and I was looking at the newest breed of Hydra scientists."

"Nope, that's 'Advanced Idea Mechanics' you're thinking about," Alfred said. "So then what did you do?"

"I punched them, the nearest doctors that is. Then I ran." Steve grimaced. "Made it out as far as Times Square before Fury and his men caught up, Fury wanted the chief physician to look me over for any nasty side effects. Turns out the chief physician had gotten the brunt of the damage from when I panicked. Doctor Sanderson wasn't very pleased to see me again less than an hour after I broke his nose."

Alfred snorted. "I've actually heard horror stories about him from other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. But then again, no matter where you are, it's _never_ a good idea to piss off the man whose job it is to patch you up. _Trust_ me on that. I was in Afghanistan a year or so ago and was left in the care of this British captain who was also the unit's medic. He set me straight pretty quickly before treating me," Alfred said, shuddering. "Unfortunately, he got shot in the shoulder a couple months ago, and was honorably discharged a little while after that."

"Yeah, he'd side with Sanderson in regards to medical care. The thing is that, as grumpy as he was about getting punched in the face, he said he was used to more troublesome patients, so what I did was actually _not_ the worse he'd ever gotten while on duty," Steve said, shaking his head as he smiled. "Some of the greenshirts are convinced he uses power tools to threaten for patient cooperation."

Alfred turned to stare at him. "Really?"

"No Alfred, they're just rumors, don't worry," Steve said, grinning. "Just enough to make the newest troublemaker think twice before causing mischief."

"Yikes. So what happened then, after you were released from Sanderson?" Alfred asked, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"I started acclimating back to society. Fury took me up to the helicarrier to meet the Avengers. It was interesting at first, especially since I met Tony Stark first. I think I was expecting him to be like Howard in temperament, but Tony's more… bombastic."

"Yeah, I've only met him once or twice through political functions, so he just knows me as a minor White House official. This of course means I can't exactly pop in at Stark Industries without raising too many questions," Alfred said. "In other words, I don't know what kind of guy he is."

"He's interesting to say the least. He was very eager to show off a lot of the technological advances I'd missed, that's for sure."

Alfred nodded. "From what I heard Fury say though, Banner is something of a calming influence on Stark," he said.

"I can definitely see the irony in that situation," Steve said before glancing back as though to check on his shadows, which were within sight. He was turning back around right as he and Alfred arrived to the stone memorials in front of the Reflecting Pool.

Even as they came to a slow stop, Alfred knew what his friend wanted to do. There were thousands of names here from several wars, some of which Steve had never experienced firsthand. There were names here, of the men and women who gave everything to their country.

It was times like these that Alfred couldn't guess what Steve was thinking because his friend's face was blank as he studied the sheer amount of inscriptions.

"Take as long as you need," Alfred murmured before stepping back to give Steve space.

"Thank you," Steve said quietly before stepping closer and kneeling in order to begin reading each individual name on the wall.

His two shadows appeared at Alfred's side, giving the captain as much space as he wanted.

For a while, no one said anything.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I apologize if I accidentally offended anyone in this chapter, and if I did, please let me know and I will change it.**

**Howard Stark's death: Yes, it was possibly foul play, but not the way Alfred thinks it is…**

**The scene with the memorials was inspired by a similar scene in one of the Captain America books, sadly I can't remember which one (except he was Captain America there, not Steve Rogers). If you know which book I'm talking about, let me know the correct issue/volume numbers!**


	9. Evening

**IX**

**Evening**

* * *

><p>'…<em>there are cats down there…'<em>

'…_how do they do that?'_

'…_Hello, dinner.'_

Sam Wilson, known as Falcon to the superhero community, jerked back to attention as he heard Redwing, his faithful red hawk, locating his intended dinner. Sam was currently perched on top of a building near the border of Harlem, and he had been planning to set out on his nightly patrol with Redwing, just like they always did ever since Sam had settled back into life here after escaping Hydra captivity (not that Fury would ever know it, but it was because S.H.I.E.L.D. had botched an operation by accident that Sam had been able to use the confusion to escape). His ability to communicate with New York's avian population had been at first an unwanted gift from Hydra, but it proved to be useful now in missions because birds often saw things that humans usually missed.

It was also a curse for the same reason; pigeons had to be the worst gossips in the city, if not the country.

Tuning in with Redwing's thoughts, Sam sighed when he saw that the hawk was eyeing a small, yellow chick sitting on a young girl's shoulder. The girl was with a man who looked close enough to be her brother.

'_Can't you find a bird that isn't a pet?'_ Sam thought, standing up as he prepared to take flight for the patrol.

'_This one isn't a pet_,' Redwing thought sullenly as he flew overhead, his body dark against the dimming sky.

'_It's not big enough for a decent meal.'_

'_Snacks are just as good.'_

Sighing, Sam tuned Redwing out as the red hawk circled its prey before diving for what apparently was going to become the evening appetizer. That or Redwing was going to use the chick as a means of tiding over to the next meal.

_Screee!_

Sam jerked and nearly fell out of the sky himself as Redwing's earsplitting screech and overwhelming terror overloaded his own senses; normally, Sam was good about controlling how much he influenced Redwing and vice versa, but there were times when they both slipped.

Turning sharply, Sam turned and left the safety of Harlem, scouring the Brooklyn and Manhattan skylines in search of the red hawk. He finally did locate Redwing once the hawk shot past him, screeching as though the Devil itself was right behind on its tail various red feathers floating from its body. Sam forced himself to fly faster, to keep up with Redwing as the two neatly maneuvered around the familiar skyscrapers. He found himself scrambling slightly as he sought to just _locate_ the enemy, and was somewhat surprised to find that their pursuer was in fact another large bird of prey.

He couldn't identify it at first glance; it was a large black eagle that was clearly intent on murder since it wouldn't let Redwing shake it off the trail. Sam couldn't even begin to imagine what had happened to the yellow chick that he could have sworn he saw through Redwing less than five minutes ago. Deciding to attempt at calming the eagle, he tried to establish a mental link with it.

He couldn't.

The bird already had a strong bond with someone else, an ancient connection that blocked Sam's efforts at even getting through to the bird's mind. If anything, he only aggravated the eagle even more than Redwing apparently did because it turned on Sam next, claws extending as it drew close.

But it didn't shred him to pieces right away.

Instead, it drew up fast so that it could more or less remain close to Sam's eye level. '_Leave me be'_, the black eagle seemed to say as it began to retreat again. '_If you do not, you will find that you are dealing with a power you do not understand. Are we clear?'_

Sam didn't remember agreeing, but apparently the eagle was satisfied because it promptly banked in flight and began to soar back toward the ground. Sam was pretty sure he didn't blink, so he was reasonably confused when he saw the once powerful black eagle smoothly transform into the harmless yellow chick from earlier, the same one that Redwing had been pursing for its dinner.

'_Threat's gone, you can come out now.'_

'_No.'_

Sam bit back a groan. '_We have a patrol to run. Let's go __now_,' he silently reminded the irritated hawk.

'_Make me.'_

Of course Redwing knew that Sam wouldn't want to waste precious time arguing. Keeping his less – than – flattering thoughts of the eagle to himself, Sam flew toward Central Park, where he sensed Redwing was hiding. The hawk meanwhile was now watching a gathering of ducks and pigeons underneath its tree. An instinctual wariness of scarf – wearing man on the bench below (who was feeding the birds) was the only factor that kept Redwing from swooping and snatching one of the birds as a snack.

While he was Falcon, Sam generally avoided civilians when there wasn't an emergency in progress because of the mixed reactions he got from people. Carefully landing not too far from the person on the bench, he warily approached the tree that Redwing was hiding in, careful to stay in visual range of the person as to not spook the other man.

The other man still looked up anyway and smiled. "Hello," the man said, a strong Russian accent audible in his voice. "How are you this evening?"

"Quite well, thank you," Sam said, warily eyeing the man's thick beige coat; there was no telling what one could hide under that coat. "I don't mean to disturb you, I just came to find my bird," he said, ignoring the flash of irritation from Redwing.

The Russian looked down at the mass of pigeons and ducks surrounding him. "Well then, I wish you the best of luck!" he said cheerfully before going back to feeding the birds.

Sam just nodded and started to step around the park bench when he received the second shock of the night.

A large lead pipe was lying on the ground underneath the bench, a distinctive yellow A.I.M. helmet lying next to it. The helmet had a large dent in the side, and although it was sunset and so not the best of lighting (so he could be mistaken in this next part), the top of the pipe was extremely dark, as though covered in dried blood.

Sam suddenly got the sense that someone was watching him; the birds surrounding him had even become quiet. He looked up to see the Russian smiling innocently at him. "Is there a problem?" the Russian asked, still smiling.

"Nope, no problem. Just here for the hawk, no other reason," Sam replied, shaking his head.

"Thought so."

The Russian turned back around to go back to feeding to the birds and Sam went back to cajoling a reluctant Redwing out of its hiding place.

'_I don't like that man.'_

'_Well, the longer you stay here, the longer we'll be here.'_

Redwing, grumbling to itself, eased itself out of its hiding place and onto a low – hanging branch. From there, it hopped down onto Sam's arm, claws tightening when the Russian turned to peacefully watch the two of them.

'_Stop, you'll break the skin',_ Sam thought crossly as he walked a ways from the Russian. '_Just take flight, and I'll catch up.'_

'_Give me a boost.'_

Sam lowered his arm for a fraction of a second before throwing it up, hoisting Redwing into the sky. The red hawk took flight immediately, and Sam silently called after it, '_We'll meet at where I meant to start tonight.'_

All he got was a mental huff in response.

Sam didn't think much of the encounter until an hour or so later when he became aware of another flier approaching him from behind as he ran his usual patrol with Redwing. Tensing – there weren't many fliers on the opposing side as compared to those in S.H.I.E.L.D. employ, but it was _Fury_ and the man deserved caution anyway – Sam reached gently into Redwing's mind to indentify the newcomer. It turned out to be the female superhero, Ms. Marvel, but Sam remained on guard because he usually only saw her whenever Fury had a risky request or two. Nevertheless, Sam slowed down enough to allow Ms. Marvel a chance to catch up.

"Been quite some time," he remarked.

"Yes it has," she agreed. She flew along for a few moments of silence, and Sam waited, knowing she would speak in her own time. Finally she said, "I'm not here directly because of Fury, so you can relax."

" 'Directly'? What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"Meaning that Fury asked _me_ to do something, but I need your help. There's been another diplomatic mishap," she explained, grimacing.

Sam groaned. "_Another_ one? Fury's not trying to make a habit of this, is he?" he asked.

"Well, I hope not, it's a general consensus around base that the London incident didn't happen," Ms. Marvel replied, brushing some her long blond hair out of her face. "Anyway, long story short, there are a few foreign diplomats wandering New York City, and I've been tasked with finding the Russian, Ivan Braginsky. I was just wondering if maybe you'd seen him? He's solidly built, blond hair, wears a thick coat and scarf despite the weather?"

Sam immediately thought of the man from the park. "Did he have a lead pipe and whack an A.I.M. agent at any point with it?" he asked.

Ms. Marvel cringed. "If that's the case, then the sudden surrender of A.I.M. forces earlier this afternoon makes more sense. Iron Fist and Cage were thrown for a loop when A.I.M. abruptly stopped fighting. Something about a demon in white wiping out each squad they sent at him," she said, a worried frown making its way onto her face.

"Central Park, probably still feeding the pigeons and ducks," Sam said, feeling a ghostly wave of anxiety from Redwing.

"All right, thank you!"

Sam just nodded, watching her fly in the direction of Central Park before he turned back to his patrol.

* * *

><p>Even though the Manhattan skyline blocked the sinking sun, Agent Phil Coulson could still tell it was a dying sunset because the orange sky from earlier had grown darker in the last hour and a half. The two agents accompanying him were still technically 'greenshirts', but since they were close to graduation, Coulson didn't worry <em>quite<em> as much about their safety as he would if they were still brand new to the whole espionage business.

AS of right now, Coulson was calmly following the figurative trail of destruction that Natalia Arlovskaya had left behind earlier that day. Her dossier had mentioned her 'worshipful devotion' to her older brother, Ivan Braginsky. So he'd kept an ear out for any reports over the radio concerning the Russian throughout the day as well. It wasn't until he happened upon the aftermath of A.I.M.'s latest skirmish that he managed to pick up Arlovskaya's trail again (apparently some A.I.M. agents had made the grievous error of attacking her brother, and those that survived the initial assault fell under attack as Arlovskaya sought vengeance for her brother). Now, Coulson only needed to ask passerby if they'd seen anything of the Belarusian in order to maintain the trail. Nine times out of ten, the person he was talking to knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Coulson!"

He paused at the semi – familiar accented voice, but smiled when he turned and recognized the elegantly dressed speaker. "Marie Ange – Colbert," he greeted, walking toward her. "How are you doing?"

The fortuneteller smiled as the three men approached her. "I am well, _merci_," she said before turning around to finish locking up the small building that housed her work area. "You are troubled, Agent Coulson," she remarked, turning back to face him with a frown gracing her features.

"We are currently looking for someone, as you probably already know," Coulson replied respectfully.

She smiled. An immigrant from France, Marie had come to the United States to escape the looming persecution of Hydra hovering over her head. To the American public, she was a sweet, redheaded French fortuneteller who had unerring accuracy with her predictions, always made through the tarot cards. To Fury and select S.H.I.E.L.D. staff members though, she was the French mutant known as Tarot, and used her powers to look forward and back through time. As far as Coulson knew, Marie had taken a small leave of absence from her teaching post in Snow Valley, Massachusetts in order to be here in New York for something… although Coulson now suspected that she'd foreseen the mishap and had come to assist in bringing it under control.

"Indeed I did," she said, the keys disappearing into her purse. "I did speak to the Arlovskaya girl, she was seeking her brother and believed that I could tell her where he was. I told her that he was in Central Park. But I warned her to not drive him away, for she would need him soon."

Coulson raised an eyebrow; he knew of the personifications, and knew there was a good chance that Marie did too. "May I ask as to why she should not drive him away?" he asked.

Marie hesitated, and then said, "The only reason I am telling you this, Agent Coulson, is that if Fury wishes to keep his Special Ops agents alive, he will heed my warning."

Coulson just nodded.

She glanced down the street, and then at the two agents behind him. "There was a man from Arlovskaya's past, a ghost who has spilled Western and Eastern blood alike. I warned her that her brother will be the only one who can stop him should he decide to return to finish what he had started," she said in a low voice. "I already know that once he kills again, and he will, Fury will decide to give chase. Your most precious possession will be stolen from you."

Coulson's face remained blank, but his mind had already guessed at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most valuable possession. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Colbert, for your time and assistance," he said, giving her a small nod.

"You're welcome. And tell Fury that when he asks for my help, I will give it, but I refuse to step between a man and his partner," she said, pulling on her thin gloves.

"Very well. Is there anything else?" Coulson asked.

She hesitated, and then said, "When the gods are angered, Agent Coulson… your best place of safety is here on the ground, where you cannot fall," she said quietly, worry and concern visible in her eyes.

"Thank you," Coulson replied, already suspecting that the 'gods' reference had to be in regards to Thor or any one of the Asgardians.

She merely nodded before turning on her heel and leaving.

"Come, gentlemen, Central Park it is," Coulson said, stepping out to the curb to hail a taxi.

"Is this the oddest mission you've ever had, Agent Coulson?" one of them, 55, asked as he tilted his head in curiosity.

"No, that award goes to my first ever mission with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Oh."

The ride to Central Park was mercifully short. Even as Coulson was getting out, he already knew there was going to be a problem; even from the street he could hear loud Russian from a panicky male voice and a higher pitched female voice. Ignoring his two companions, well aware that they could easily take care of themselves, he approached the source of the argument, coming around the corner.

And almost walked straight into a standoff.

At first glance, the scene was borderline comical. A tall well – built man, who had to Braginsky, was standing in the middle of a swarm of birds as he held Ms. Marvel in place, a living shield against a livid Belarusian. Natalia moved gracefully, trying to get around Ms. Marvel while Braginsky moved the other woman to keep her between him and his younger sister. Coulson briefly wondered what would happen if the Belarusian ever met the Black Widow in combat, and then dismissed the thought; the results would be disastrous as both women would not be keen on letting the other survive.

Then he spotted the thin knife that Natalia Arlovskaya was holding.

"Excuse me?" he said in a tone just loud enough to be heard over the mixture of Russian and English.

Startled, Natalia looked up to face him, as did Ms. Marvel. Braginsky took advantage of this however to gently pull Ms. Marvel away from Natalia, still crouched behind her as though he were hiding.

Although, given Natalia's current temperament, Coulson didn't blame Braginsky one bit.

"Ms. Arlovskaya, I am Agent Phil Coulson," he said, careful to maintain her attention by moving away from Ms. Marvel and Braginsky. "I would like you to accompany me back to S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said calmly as the other two took this opportunity to conveniently disappear, Ms. Marvel taking flight but staying close as Braginsky scattered the last of his bread crumbs to the birds and quickly walking away. "In fact, you can even meet up with your brother there," Coulson added.

Natalia's head snapped in the direction of where her brother _had_ been standing up until now. Snarling, she turned to face Coulson, tightening her grip on the knife. "What did you do to Big Brother?" she growled, starting to approach the three of them.

Coulson signaled the two agents behind him to keep their weapons down while he himself held his ground. "He's just going to headquarters, the woman that was with him was making him nervous…"

"_Her? _Where is she?" Natalia snarled, turning around to scan for the missing S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Coulson, in his defense, was glad he didn't specify as to _which_ woman Braginsky had been afraid of here. He'd have to warn Ms. Marvel, next time that he saw her. "She's probably on her way back to the headquarters to find him," Coulson replied calmly.

Natalia swore under her breath in Russian. "She better not hurt him," she growled, keeping her knife out as she stalked past the three of them. "Where are these headquarters of yours? I must find Big Brother _immediately_…"

"We can drive there," Coulson offered, signaling to one of his men to call in a vehicle.

Natalia turned to him with such an innocent smile that Coulson felt as though he were staring at a snake rather than the personification of Belarus. "Yes, please do," she said in a saccharine tone that put Coulson on guard rather than at ease.

Coulson nevertheless covered up his unease with his usual politician poker face. "Of course, Ms. Arlovskaya," he replied.

Now they'd be all set if the two agents with him could keep their nerves to themselves in the middle of a car trip with Natalia Arlovskaya.

* * *

><p>"You're kidding, right?"<p>

Eric Koenig sighed but ignored the recruit behind him. '_Whatever happened to the days where the young respected their elders?_' he wondered as he kept walking down the sidewalk, mindful of the two recruits trailing after him as the three waded through thick pedestrian traffic. They were headed to the Blue Moon, a popular eatery during the day and nightclub after dark, but it was the closest place Koenig could think of that served decent German beer.

Even hours after the fact, Koenig still wondered what the hell had been going through Fury's mind when he assigned Koenig this particular retrieval mission. Granted, Koenig had been itching for something to do since he'd been sitting here in New York for at least a month after his last mission, an assassination in Madripoor (politician with confirmed links to Hydra, quiet and stealthy did the trick here).

But Fury was looking at a disaster in the making (aside from the once –in – a – blue – moon public mistake); just because Koenig had gotten along with the Beilschmidt brothers in the conclusion of World War Two, didn't mean that he'd planned on ever seeing them again. It had been 1947 and the Berlin Wall was almost completed, and Koenig said his last good – bye to his former commanding officer, Gilbert Beilschmidt before joining the rest of the Commandoes on their way out to London.

There was definitely bad blood between the Beilschmidts and Fury though. Koenig didn't blame them for the feud either.

When Koenig and the other Commandos had found out about the personifications, Koenig had wanted to smack himself for first showing disrespect and turning traitor on his own country only to assist in the arrest of both German personifications less than a month later.

"Where are we going anyway?" Erica Holstein asked impatiently behind him.

"Dinner. Then back to H.Q.," Koenig said, stepping around a flock of stray cats that were attempting to drape themselves over a man sleeping at an outdoor café table. Spotting a familiar yellow chick perched on a series of potted plants, Koenig amended, "Well, you two will be having dinner. I'll be collecting our mission objectives," as he scooped the little bird up and tucked it into his jacket.

"Since when were you such a glory-hound?" Hans, the other recruit, asked, still managing to keep up with Koenig's brisk pace.

Now he was glad that he was keeping Hans away from the two men they were looking for. "I'm not. I'm just not going to give you a chance to insult two of the five people I greatly respect," he replied mildly, forcing himself not to rise to the bait.

"You only respect _five_ people? Who is the fifth?" Hans persisted.

"I said those were the five I respected the _most_. Now shut up or I won't pay for your dinner," Koenig snapped back as they approached the bar.

"Who were the third and the fourth? He only named two!" Erica whispered.

"Captain America and Nick Fury, one's his teammate from World War Two, the other is his boss. Duh," Hans replied before running to catch up with Koenig.

"Of _course_ he was teammates with Captain America, why didn't I notice it before?" Erica muttered under her breath as she started to catch up with the other two.

Inside the bar, Koenig sent the two agents to a small table near the back before scanning up and down the counter for any sign of an albino that was either drinking the beer or criticizing it. "Do you see your master?" Koenig asked the little yellow bird quietly, opening his jacket wide enough for the bird to see.

Gilbird was quiet for a few minutes, scanning the room as Koenig casually walked around the tables, pausing only to chat with some of the regulars that he recognized. His left arm and hand was positioned in a way so that his wrist provided support for Gilbird and hold open the jacket at the same time.

Then the chick began cheeping insistently.

Koenig flinched even though he'd been waiting for that particular sound. Turning, he smiled when he spotted the two other men sitting up at the counter, the albino slouched forward slightly while the other was rubbing his temples. There were empty seats on either side of the two men, but Koenig didn't want to risk a fight with a drunken man, so he calmly walked over and sat down at the counter next to Ludwig Beilschmidt, mindful of a squirming Gilbird.

"Koenig! I take it that your little jaunt a couple weeks ago went well?" the bartender called out in German, easily recognizing one of his most frequent patrons.

"Indeed it did," Koenig replied in kind, careful not to react to Ludwig's turn of the head at the bartender's cry. "It was a little rocky at first, but everything smoothed out in the end."

"That's good to hear. I had to kick out a small group of Danes and Thor earlier this afternoon, they were getting a little too rowdy and it wasn't even dinnertime at that point," the bartender said grimly as he prepared Koenig's drink.

"Mm. I'll talk to Thor the next time I see him," Koenig said, accepting his drink. "Also, as for the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the back, get them whatever they want and put it on my tab, please."

"Which had better be paid by the end of the month," the bartender warned before leaving.

"Of course," Koenig murmured almost to himself before turning to his neighbor. "I _always_ pay my debts," he added, and Ludwig Beilschmidt, the personification of Germany, nodded in agreement.

"That you do," Ludwig said, frowning as he scanned Koenig over with wary eyes. "Although it doesn't answer the question of how you survived since our parting in 1947."

"Fury got his hands on some experimental stuff ten years later, he didn't feel like kicking the bucket just yet even though Hydra remnants tried to move that bit along," Koenig replied with a slight shrug. He hesitated, and then added in a lower voice, "Fury told me about the, uh, incident back in 1990 with the, ah, 'European Reunion Tour'."

"Bastard," Gilbert suddenly growled, startling both Ludwig and Koenig. "I was having so much fun with Francis and Antonio too," he said under his breath before going back to his drink.

"Director Fury threatened to cut off German imports and exports if Gilbert didn't apologize for all the damage he caused. I could not afford to let that happen to a recently – reunified country, so I made him apologize. Gilbert has… strongly disliked Fury since then, among other reasons as well," Ludwig remarked dryly.

Koenig raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that Fury technically can't do that, right? Never could, never will. I'm not one hundred percent sure who exactly has the authority to order that, but it's definitely not Fury."

"_What?"_

Several nearby patrons jumped at the loud German, and even Gilbert scowled at his brother. "What the hell was that all about?" he asked irritably.

"Nothing important," Ludwig said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Glancing at Koenig, he said, "I suspect you are not here for a social visit?"

"No, but I do have something for Gilbert, sir," Koenig replied, opening his jacket to let Gilbird out onto the counter. The two men watched as the bird righted itself, fluffed out its feathers, and then began hopping across the counter to Gilbert. "Found him waiting around outside," Koenig said, getting the sudden feeling that an explanation was necessary.

Sixty years later, and he still felt like a private on his first day in the army around these two. At least that upstart S.H.I.E.L.D. greenshirt couldn't hear the conversation, or Koenig was sure he'd never hear the end of it.

"Wonderful. Now the bird's going to get drunk as well," Ludwig said as his brother scooped Gilbird up and let the bird drink from his glass. "Now why else are you here?" he asked, turning back to Koenig.

"Director Fury is trying to find all of World Conference diplomats before they completely level New York from the chaos alone," Koenig quietly explained, mindful of the other patrons around them.

Ludwig's eyes narrowed, and Koenig swallowed down the brief flash of fear. "Why should I trust Nicholas Fury when he has done nothing to me except bring trouble and lies?" Ludwig asked coldly.

Koenig swallowed, but forced himself to calm down again. "Because Fury stands to lose more than you have to worry about, you hold the advantage this time. Fury never forgets his debts, and if you were to make his task easier now, he'll definitely remember that later, and think twice before doing something that could be considered stupid again," he explained, leaning forward slightly to keep the conversation more private.

There was silence between the two of them for a few minutes. Then Gilbird let out a chirp before stumbling over to settle between the two German brothers. "And your brother may want to lie down in a few minutes for a little while," Koenig added.

Ludwig glanced over at Gilbert, who had settled for glaring at Gilbird instead of his half – empty glass. "Let it be on your head if this is another of Director Fury's tricks," Ludwig finally warned before he stood up and gently eased his brother up as well.

"Of course sir," Koenig said before standing up as well, signaling to his two companions before turning to Ludwig. "Shall I lead you back?"

"Do you know the way?" Ludwig countered.

Koenig mentally grimaced at the reminder of how dumb his initial question had been. "Of course, this way, sir," he said, gingerly picking up Gilbird.

Hans appeared out of nowhere, startling Koenig and the Beilschmidts, and immediately launched into another slew of questions. Erica Holstein however, hung back from the departing group long enough to pull out a small black phone and snap a photograph of the two 'diplomats'. She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she typed in an unregistered phone number and sent the picture along.

Then she went to go catch up with the others.

* * *

><p>As far as arguments went, that last one could have been a lot worse.<p>

Tony Stark leaned against the counter, enjoying the martini in his hand and the slowly – growing crowd at the Blue Moon. It was well after ten in the evening, and he desperately needed to unwind after the stressful and unusual day he'd just had.

If this had been another ordinary evening though, Tony would probably be snuggled up with Pepper right now.

That being said, the two were in the uncertain 'We're not interacting with each other' stage, leaving him free to roam New York at his leisure. Fury evidently was smack dab in the middle of another crisis that wasn't bad enough to warrant the Avengers' involvement, but still sensitive enough for Fury to tell Tony 'just get the hell out of here' without physically hauling him out of the building. Before Tony left though, he'd found a polar bear camped out in the middle of the main lobby, but an Englishman had whacked him upside the head when he tried to leave with the (very reluctant) bear.

"Mr. Stark?"

He turned, half – expecting to find another nosey reporter. He was half – right; it was Christine Everhart, the lovely lady from _Vanity Fair_. "Ah, Christine is it?" he asked, flashing her an easy smile.

She smiled prettily. "Good memory, Mr. Stark," she said. Glancing around, she asked, "Where is Miss Potts?"

Tony grimaced at the reminder. "Don't know if you saw my little fumble on David Letterman the other night, but Pepper's still miffed over that," he admitted, shrugging.

"Mr. Stark, America saw your 'little fumble' last night, you're _Tony Stark_. Everyone was going to watch you, so yes, I did see your 'little fumble'. Bad move," Christine replied with a smile.

Tony shrugged. "I talked to my buddy Clint about it, and he said it was nowhere near the embarrassment he and Black Widow caused in the U.N. after the incident in Budapest, so I shouldn't worry too much over it," he replied with a smile.

"Really now? What happened in Budapest?" Christine asked, leaning forward in interest.

Tony merely grinned before pantomiming locking his lips with an invisible key. "Sorry, it's classified. Come join S.H.I.E.L.D. and we'll talk."

"Oh? You wouldn't be amendable to other… methods of persuasion?" Christine asked, leaning forward suggestively.

Tony was about to respond when there were three shrill squeals of delight. Confused, he looked up to see a set of identical triplets fawning over a slightly taller man who had wavy blond hair, startling blue eyes, and was leaning against the counter a ways from Tony. He was conversing with the girls in a mixture of English and French; it was painfully obvious that the girls were trying to impress him. The man was taking it all in stride, gently correcting mistakes or even supplying forgotten words.

"Wow, he's a heartbreaker," Christine remarked, taking a sip from her glass.

"Did I just get demoted?" Tony teased, trying to hide the flash of anxiety from his voice.

"Well, I'm just calling it as I see it," Christine said, looking pointedly at the stranger's mini – entourage.

_Oh really?_

Tony scanned the small female population near the bar, and flashed his trademark smirk at a pair that happened to glance in his direction at that moment. They both giggled and blushed lightly when Tony gestured with his chin that they come join him. As they did though, Tony glanced at the Frenchman, and was slightly startled to find the other man watching him as well. Then the Frenchman turned back to his small party of five, discreetly undoing the top two buttons of his loose white shirt.

_Oh, now it's on._

"Watch it pal, I've been doing this before you even knew what a girl was," Tony muttered as he pulled off his jacket and ruffled his shirt a little.

"He doesn't seem to be _that_ young," Christine remarked, sipping her drink thoughtfully.

"I'm guessing he's twenty something years younger than me," Tony replied, easily flexing a muscle as a gaggle of girls passed. "I've got this no problem."

"And the end goal is?" Christine prompted, arching a thin eyebrow at him.

"To show that I've still got it," Tony replied casually while draining his glass.

"Better hope then, that Johnny Storm isn't lurking around then, he might show up and skew the results," Christine warned.

"The Fantastic Four are out of the country, Richard wanted to travel to the center of the earth this week because God knows why. Wherever Sue goes, Johnny is sure to follow to make sure she's safe," Tony replied, smiling charismatically at his small group of admirers.

The Frenchman had five more.

As the rest of the evening wore on, the unspoken challenge grew heated as buttons disappeared, smiles charmed visitors, and in the Frenchman's case, the entire shirt went off entirely, earning murmurs of appreciation. Always self – conscious of the arc reactor in his chest, Tony kept his shirt on and half – buttoned, but gave it his all. Besides, he knew there was always more to a person than just looks (but then again, the rugged American look worked as well).

He was so caught up in this 'game' and a debate with a few of his admirers that he didn't notice the bouncer reaching over until the other man had yanked Tony forward by his shirt collar. "This is quite enough from the two of you!" he snarled as he reached over and grabbed the Frenchman's wrist. "I've been watching the two of you all evening with the manager, and we do have –"

"Oh~? Did you like what you saw?" the Frenchman purred, earning giggles from a few of his companions.

The bouncer sputtered for a moment, dropping the Frenchman's wrist for a moment. "No! Just… just get the hell out of here, both of you!"

"The United States is a democracy, is it not? We should let the people decide. What do you say, should _mon ami_ and I stay, or go?" the Frenchman asked, turning to his mini – entourage.

"You're both _going_," the bouncer snarled, recovering himself and snatching the Frenchman's wrist. With a burst of hidden strength, he hauled the two of them out of the club altogether, throwing them both unceremoniously out onto the sidewalk, nearly hitting a group of four girls that had been tentatively approaching the nightclub. The four looked wary and a little interested in the proceedings as the bouncer threw the Frenchman's white shirt after them. "And _neither_ of you are coming back!"

"Ah, what a shame. I was quite enjoying myself," the Frenchman said as he sat up, rubbing his back. He gracefully stood up and asked almost to himself, "Now where did my – oh, _merci beaucoup_,_ ma __chérie_."

Tony glanced at the four girls, who, at first glance, seemed taken aback that the Frenchman was talking to them, but then he spotted that one of them, a girl with dark blond curly hair, was clutching the white shirt as though it was a lifeline. She turned a slight pink as she handed the shirt back with trembling fingers, murmuring, "_A votre service_."

In response, the Frenchman delicately took her hand in his and gently kissed the back of her hand. Then he turned and left, slipping his shirt back on in the process. The girls turned to watch him leave, and Tony made a mental note to work on his own techniques.

He was clearly falling out of practice.

"Mr. Stark!"

He looked up to find three S.H.I.E.L.D. agents arriving to the scene; well, one S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and two newbies. "Can I help you?" Tony asked wearily as the male newbie helped pull him back up to his feet.

"Did a Frenchman just pass through here? Blond hair, tall, acts like he owns the city?" Sergeant Rushman demanded.

Tony waved in the general direction of the Frenchman's departure. "That-away, don't know where exactly he was going. You can ask those girls," he said, nodding to the group of four that were now watching the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents warily.

"No. Civvies get easily spooked, and we get bad press as a result," Rushman replied irritably. "Just… whatever. Thank you, Mr. Stark," Rushman said tiredly before turning on his heel and walking in the direction that Tony had seen his competitor leave in.

Tony just muttered under his breath before walking away back to Stark Tower, an ache still present in his pride and spine.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: (To the Guest who reviewed Ch. 1: I am a little confused by what you meant by 'rightish – wrong'. Could you please PM me or leave an anon note in my Tumblr ask ( ask) with clarification?)**

**SparkOut: Ah, but did I say if anything actually happened? ;)**

**Please don't run me out of town for the Budapest thing, I couldn't resist…**

**For those also following _Stars and Stripes Forever_, expect an update coming soon!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Life on Vega, who has patiently waited for this particular scene with France ever since we came up with the story idea back in December of 2011. **


	10. Status

**X**

**Status**

* * *

><p>Today had been absolute hell so far.<p>

And it showed no signs of stopping.

The smile on his face was beginning to hurt as the evening drew to a close, the surrounding British and American accents grating unpleasantly on his ears. He was grateful for that reason that no one was talking to him at the immediate moment; he didn't know how he'd be able to talk without snarling at someone. People were mingling at this point, the man closest to his right, one Mycroft Holmes, was engaged with his other dignitary at the moment, and Holmes's female aide was hovering behind him. Agent 77, a female S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who looked just as unhappy to be there as he did was nodding to another dignitary whose name was unimportant anyway as he chattered away.

He still had so much work to do tonight.

"Sir?"

It was Agent 77.

"Yes?" he inquired, looking at her.

"You requested a time check every thirty minutes," she reminded him. "It's two minutes to midnight."

"Of course, my dear, thank you." Glancing around the room, he said, "Please go fetch Agent 96, I plan to retire for the evening soon."

She nodded. "Yes, sir," she said before turning on her heel and promptly leaving. The event's dress code had dictated that she dress formally, but she'd opted for military formal, smoothly ducking out of the gown that he'd (very privately) hoped she'd wear, just to give him something to focus on other than the tedium of the overall meet – and – greet between various agencies within the British and American governments, some of which theoretically didn't exist.

"Who is she?"

He turned to find Alexander Conklin – _Ex-C.I.A., stayed on as advisor_ – watching Agent 77 leaving. "She is one of my escorts, courtesy of Director Nicholas Fury," he replied, glancing back in her direction as she left the room.

Conklin rolled his eyes. "And I see that our illustrious director is not present tonight, nor is Madam Hill, his usual go-to representative when he's unavailable," he remarked sarcastically before sipping some champagne – _same glass that he started the evening with, he's paranoid – _and glancing over at someone else. "Did he explain why?"

"No, but I was under the impression that a minor crisis came up in New York City. Something about rogue personnel," he replied mildly before sipping from his flask.

Conklin flinched minutely, just as intended with the subtle reminder of 'rogue personnel'. "Did he specify what exactly, or was he as frustratingly vague as usual?" Conklin asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I presumed that he had it well in hand, so I did not pry," he replied with a half-hearted shrug of his shoulders.

Conklin frowned. "I would have thought, that with your position in the American government, you would have asked," he said after a moment of careful thought; he might have made a few critical mistakes as C.I.A. field operations director, but he wasn't so stupid as to outright challenge his companion.

_Power. It opens so many doors and controls so many. _

"I trust Director Fury has the situation well in hand, if it requires American military intervention, _then_ he'll come to me," he replied calmly. "In which case, _then_ I'll turn to you or perhaps Director Ann Roxwell for assistance."

Conklin's nostrils flared slightly at the mention of his successor, but bit back whatever retort he'd had in mind.

Just as well, because the (in)famous Mycroft Holmes appeared out of nowhere, his ever – present assistant right behind him, the ever – present smirk gone from his face for once. Instead, the man looked rather anxious, and his assistant's gaze was flickering all over the room. "Gentlemen," Holmes said pleasantly, "It is good to see you both again."

"Likewise," Conklin said stiffly. The American – British secret service rivalry was so intense that it was quite entertaining to taunt both groups and then watch them lunge at each other's throats. Now if only MI6's venerable leader would join their little party, and the evening wouldn't be so bad after all.

Actually, it would be the best evening in a long time if he could have Nick Fury here too, and then step back to watch them all snip at each other while the viper settled back, quietly learning their weaknesses so they could be used later.

Instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, he said, "Mr. Holmes, I trust everything has been calm here lately?"

Holmes gave a thin smile. "I wish I could affirm that, unfortunately we did have… a madman strapping civilians to bomb vests recently," he said carefully. Gesturing toward the double doors, he said, "Shall we take this outside?"

"By all means," Conklin said, nodding toward the doors. He glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Is Her Imperiousness going to join us or is she going to look down on us for the rest of the evening?"

"Be respectful, or she may not be so quick to assist in another one of your messes," Holmes warned. "Especially if your rogue agents decide to resurface again."

Suitably cowed, Conklin fell immediately quiet.

He made a note to find at least one of the two rogue agents, he knew about one of them. Pay the other to cause as much chaos as possible and then sit back to watch the stage burn. He was good at all manners of destruction, but vengeance was his specialty.

Maybe that was why his minions knew better than to question his authority.

Unaware of his thoughts, his two companions continued talking quickly and quietly as the three left the ballroom. "We did however manage to crack the code that the terrorists were using right before the passenger plane was set to leave in Germany, and were able to delay it using technical problems as an excuse," Holmes was saying. "The problem is that they have now turned their attention to Britain, and I cannot stand by and allow people to die."

"We'll figure something out soon enough," Conklin said. Turning to him, the American asked, "Is the Department of Defense aware of this development?"

"Yes, I received the news right before I left the country," he replied calmly, careful to mimic Conklin's accent while keeping it different enough as to not arouse suspicion. "I did send a memo to Director Fury, but I have yet to hear back from him."

"Fury. Not exactly the person I would have selected, he doesn't quite know the meaning of the word 'subtle'. Makes my younger brother's attempts at espionage look like the work of a professional," Holmes said, a faint look of disdain crossing his features.

"No, but he doesn't seem to mind covering up for MI6's explosive mistakes," Conklin shot back.

Holmes elected to ignore him. "Nevertheless, we need to plan for the inevitable attack on Britain. Chances are good that if they continue under the perception that they are still undiscovered, they will turn toward the United States."

_Not anymore, I can't lose money like that._

Aloud, he said, "Now that I know for sure of what is going on, I will definitely have to speak to the President about this, how is it that you and not Fury cracked the code first?" Glancing at Holmes, he added, "Did you persuade your beloved MI6 do something illegal by U.N. standards?"

An expression flickered across Holmes's face, and there was a brief momentary panic – _did I misstep and give away that I know more than I should?_ – but then he shrugged it off, even if he did make errors (as few as there actually were), he had nothing to fear from Mycroft Holmes. Nothing at all. Really, it should be Mycroft Holmes afraid of _him._

Maybe that would be his next project, after eliminating his greatest and oldest rival. It would be more entertaining than tailing his oldest rival, the great American idiot didn't even know he was back as well and was leaving his guard _completely open_. It was time to really remind the world that Hydra, while suffering now, could still rise back to its former glory at a moment's notice. Holmes would undoubtedly surround himself and his family with the best protection and surveillance possible, but in the end, there could only be one winner and that wasn't going to be Holmes this time.

Then, while Fury was in London investigating the death of a prominent government official, he could finish the S.H.I.E.L.D. director off. It wouldn't be the first S.H.I.E.L.D. leader either that Hydra had picked off, but he would finally erase any doubts that he knew the underlings had about him. Only one man in history had ever come close to murdering both Captain America and Nick Fury, and he was about to show them again that there were consequences to lowered guards.

"Sir?"

The three of them turned to see Agent 96 standing there with 77, which both had the trademarked poker – faced expressions of S.H.I.E.L.D. officers on duty. "You wished to retire?" 96 prompted, tilting his head in concern. "I was going to escort you back to your hotel?"

The nice thing about agents was that other agency heads couldn't boss them around; they all had a mind of their own. The same principle applied to Hydra and unfortunately A.I.M., although he knew plenty of methods to coerce the A.I.M. idiots into doing his bidding. "Thank you, Agent 96. If you do not mind, please grant me one moment," he said, and the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents nodded obediently before retreating. "My apologies, Mr. Holmes, I had not felt well earlier this evening, and thought it best to retire as soon as I was able to prevent any… accidents."

_Such as me murdering the rest of you to eliminate the tediousness and unpleasantness of the event and your grating voices._

"Very well, Mr. Rusk," Holmes said, his face a complete politician's mask. "Thank you, for joining us this evening. I will of course keep you updated on our progress."

"Yes, please do." _No you won't, I can read it in your eyes. You think you can hide everything from me, but you can't._ "I will also contact the director of the Central Intelligence Agency as well as the Department of Homeland Security, warn them of this oncoming threat," he said, in an almost subtle warning to Conklin that if he tried to hide anything, he would be discovered and possibly be discharged permanently.

Holmes smiled thinly. "Of course, I wouldn't expect anything less."

He gave Holmes an innocent smile before sweeping away, walking away from the two men and through the two doors that the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had stepped through to give the three of them privacy. "I trust I still have your discretion?" he said, pausing by Agent 96.

"Yes, sir," 96 replied, his face as blank as it had been when he'd made the pact of silence with him.

"Good."

As the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents led him to his private car, he remembered of the little incident that led to the delicate balance between him and Agent 96. It had been on the plane heading to London when 96 had walked past him from behind, only to come to a stuttering halt as he realized what was going on. Momentarily fearful that 96 could blow the game in the early stages, he'd smoothly stood up and placed a hand around 96's mouth, whispering in the agent's ear that should one word of the incident leave the two of them, Agent 69 would be the first to receive the punishment, and that every one of the man's family would disappear until he was the last one left.

"_After all, I think we both know that I'm capable of doing exactly that. It would be a shame if everyone you ever knew in your life were to suffer a… dismal end. I'm sure you're fond of several individuals, names that you can't hide from me. All it takes is one peek into your boss's database, and your life is mine without me ever having to lift a finger. Everyone you know, everyone you knew… they would be all mine."_

Agent 96 had been wonderfully cooperative after that.

Which was good, because he would need an obedient escort to look the other way when it was time to finally return to his true home. Agent 96 wasn't American, which in his mind was good because Americans had an unfortunate tendency to be obstinate when the mood hit them, making them unpredictable and useless pawns. No, 96 and his brother were Canadians, making them the first that he'd ever encountered, but so far, Agent 96 had been extremely obedient. There was still the slight caution because it was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent he was dealing with, but so far nothing had happened. He had Agent 96 right where he wanted him.

He glanced over at Agent 96, who was sitting next to him in the car. The man was staring determinedly ahead. Agent 77 was in the front passenger seat, but she wasn't a threat, she'd been in the cockpit with the two pilots when he'd trapped Agent 96.

"Tell me, Agent 96, can you fly a small jet?" he asked, hiding a smirk as the man flinched.

"No, sir. I work in the administration and occasionally in the field as a second – in – command to the commanding officer," Agent 96 said, trying and failing to keep the slight edge of hostility out of his voice.

"You're slipping," he replied in a low voice.

Agent 96 ducked his head but didn't respond.

Shrugging off the man's antisocial behavior, he went back to his business, pulling out his phone when he heard a faint _beep_ indicating an incoming message. He studied the picture for a moment, and then raised an eyebrow when he realized who exactly he was looking at.

_Interesting._

It was almost one in the morning when they arrived to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s London branch headquarters. Agent 77 left them in the main lobby, and Agent 96 almost followed but stopped when he cleared his throat. Lips tight, the agent dutifully turned around and followed him up the first flight of stairs; as an American official, he had his first pick of quarters at the branch, and the closer to the ground he was, the safer he felt.

Especially since he had a dangerous agent under threat of blackmail.

"Please stand outside my door, make sure no one comes in," he said, and Agent 96 nods stiffly before moving to stand on the side of the door that had the doorknob.

The suite was as cozy as he remembered it from his last visit to London. Setting aside his coat, he walked into the small study to power up his laptop, and then access his encrypted video program; it wouldn't do to be caught just because Skype was choosing to be faulty and S.H.I.E.L.D. happened to be monitoring his outbound and inbound communications.

He watched in silence as a notification was sent out to the three conversation participants, and then three separate windows appeared on the screen. All were blank at the moment, but he knew that would change in the first few minutes.

_Ping!_

It was the first of his three direct subordinates. Arnim Zola was unfortunately not much of the coward he was back in the forties, making it harder to cow him into submission, but he was still just as useful. He'd found Zola rotting away in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility along the German – Swiss border in 1990, and had waited until the facility had been trashed thanks to three Europeans before lifting Zola out. An accident that Zola still refused to explain had left the doctor with cybernetics, but luckily his nasty streak had grown considerably during his stint in prison, easily overpowering the cowardice. It was too bad that he had to be kept in check though, there was so much potential with that.

"Dr. Zola, I trust that my orders have been carried out?" he said, dropping the fake American accent he'd been using all day. The former doctor nodded stiffly.

"_The last of the Soviets have been tracked down and killed. There is… no one left to challenge your authority in the area,"_ Zola said stiffly.

"But…?"

Zola's eyes narrowed, but he knew his hesitation had been spotted. "_The cyro-chamber believed to have been __his__ is empty. There is no idea as to when the Soviets removed him, and if so, back to a stronghold in Russia or not,"_ he said.

Bad news. It always was bad news when a rumored – to – be – absolutely – deadly Cold War assassin was unaccounted for, alive or otherwise. "I see," he said finally, keeping his displeasure hidden for now; there was a more pressing matter to attend to. "Please keep looking for him. Also, please inform Mr. Moriarty that we will no longer require his services, seeing as he's allowed the hired terrorists to get caught."

Zola bowed… barely. "_Of course. Is there anything else you require?_"

"No, that will be all."

There weren't any parting greetings, Zola simply signed off as he was wont to do when he'd had enough of dealing with a person.

Now he had to wait for the other two.

The two _pings_ came both at once, not really a surprise since the two last contacts usually coordinated with each other frequently since they were both in the United States. His two field commanders.

The first image was of a redheaded woman, still wearing the detested S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform. She seemed alone then, which was fine by him because the last time, he'd caught both his commanders in the same _room_;which was not something he would have liked to witness, especially after the favors he did for them both. Sinthea however was in a darkened apartment room whereas the other commander, the enemy known to S.H.I.E.L.D. as Crossbones was in a bare hotel room.

"What are your reports?" he asked coldly.

Sinthea cleared her throat, making it clear to Crossbones she was going to speak first. "_Did you get the photograph_?" she asked, tilting her chin up defiantly.

He'd have to deal with that the next time he saw her. "Of course, it was very intriguing. How on earth did they survive this long? I thought that neither of them were on speaking terms with Nick Fury, so he couldn't have helped them," he said, holding his phone up again to examine the photograph of Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt. He'd remembered them from the war, when Hitler limited the interactions between the two parties. It had only convinced him that Hitler was planning to eventually remove him from power and replace him with one of the Beilschmidt brothers. When the Allies had successfully captured them both, he hadn't cared very much.

But then they both returned, along with that man on Gilbert's other side, helping support him.

All three were supposed to be dead. If a bullet hadn't found them, then time should have.

"_What photograph are you talking about?"_ Crossbones demanded, irked at being cut from the conversation.

"_One that I took earlier, dummkopf_," Sinthea snapped, glaring off to the side from his perspective, no doubt angry at Crossbones. "_While you were off playing soldier…"_

"_Hey, I was riling up the A.I.M. idiots, just as ordered,"_ Crossbones snarled back. "_The only reason it didn't last as long as I'd planned was because some white demon panicked them into surrendering to the S.H.I.E.L.D. forces there."_

"Silence."

Both subordinates promptly fell silent as he continued to peruse the photograph. While longevity was not really a surprise, he was still intrigued on how one of Hitler's direct subordinates survived long enough to fall into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s good graces, if the third man's uniform was anything to go by. Gilbert Beilschmidt especially, he remembered, had been close to death the last time he'd seen him; the albino had been suffering from an unusually steady decline in health, so much so that one of the generals privately remarked that he'd be shocked if Beilschmidt lived long enough to see the new year.

Yet here he was now, in what seemed to be perfect health.

"Sinthea, change targets, for now… I want both brothers, we can save Captain America for later. Both of you," he said finally, lowering his phone to look at the two in questions. "I…I have a little research to conduct in Berlin, and I wish to be informed immediately once the targets have been acquired. Then, and only then, I will rendezvous with you both in our newly acquired home in southwestern Germany."

Sinthea looked as though she wanted to argue, but wisely kept her mouth shut. _"Of course. Hail Hydra_," she said through clenched teeth before reaching forward and disconnecting the call.

"And Crossbones, one more hint of a liaison with your fellow officer, and I shall be forced to intervene," he warned, and Crossbones muttered something before nodding stiffly and disconnecting the video call as well.

Crossbones could deny it all he wanted, but he was Hydra's the moment he started working full time for them.

Leaning back in his chair, the lone man in the S.H.I.E.L.D. quarters steepled his fingers as he stared at the ceiling, his next steps falling into place. Yes, research into the old databases was the first step; the databases that people believed were destroyed when the Russians invaded Berlin were actually still intact, it was just a matter of looking in the right place.

One step at a time, all he had to do was take it one step at a time.

* * *

><p>"Sit-rep please. Ms. Norwood, please start."<p>

Natasha glanced at the other woman as she slid files across the desk to Fury. The two were in Fury's office on the top floor of the headquarters, the windows overlooking the well – lit New York skyline. Natasha, still on edge from avoiding Kirkland all day, was planning to leave as soon as she could for her rarely – used apartment in the city.

"The representatives of England, Italy, Spain, Netherlands, Germany and East Germany, Switzerland and Liechtenstein, Russia, and Belarus are all present and accounted for," Norwood said calmly.

"We're still waiting on a few who had tangles with the New York police, Agent Quartermain is handling that now," Widow said, pushing her own folder across. "Sergeant Rushman reports that he has glimpsed the Frenchman twice now, but has failed both times to catch him. Also, Agent Jimmy Woo reports that Thunder Fireworks is still demanding compensation for the stolen goods, but he has yet to find the culprits responsible. He has a theory that it might be the representatives from Hong Kong and South Korea as they were caught on the company's security cameras earlier today."

"What the hell are they going to do with fireworks?" Fury asked wearily.

"Set them off?" Norwood said, raising an eyebrow.

Almost as if on cue, there was a series of bright colors in the distance in the dark sky, in the direction of the harbor.

"That answers that, I suppose," Widow said, leaning back in her chair slightly.

"I want everyone found by the end of the day tomorrow. Ms. Norwood, we are still seeking Jones out, we lost track of him at the Dulles International Airport, where he took out a car that we found was registered to you," Fury said, turning to Norwood, who just silently put a hand to her eyes.

"Oh good God, not again," she groaned, rubbing her temples. "I can't believe him, even after that last lecture…"

"From my experience, he rarely listens to orders as opposed to his instincts, which are inclined to protecting his allies," Natasha said, glancing at Norwood but then turned back to Fury. "I would hardly count him as a problem right now," she said, leaning back in her chair.

"He is a member of the United States government, we need to locate him as soon as possible," Fury said, his eye narrowing slightly. "As we've already established, there is already a vested interest in his safety."

"Then send me after him, I'll have him back here by the next day," Natasha replied, knowing this was her chance to escape Kirkland's disapproving stare.

"No, because I already set you to a task. I sent two S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives after him, and they're closing in on his location," Fury replied. "Sergeant Willis informed me that he'll inform me once they have Jones."

Natasha opened her mouth to correct him, point out that Willis had been tasked with making sure that Captain America stayed out of harm's way and out of trouble. Then she caught on to what Fury was implying, that he already knew were Jones was, so she merely said, "I see."

"Preferably before twenty – four hours pass," Jess said, squaring her shoulders when Fury turned to her with an arched brow.

"I'll see what I can do," Fury said. "Now Ms. Norwood, please get some rest. We're used to working around the clock like this on a daily basis, and I need you at your best tomorrow morning."

Norwood looked as though she was going to protest, but finally nodded and said, "Of course." Standing up, she said, "I will see you tomorrow then, good night Director."

"Good night," Fury replied, and the two of them watched as she nodded once before turning and leaving the office.

Natasha waited until Norwood left before turning to Fury. "You're thinking about recruiting her," she said flatly.

"Why not? Agents in her position are always selected for their dedication, discretion, and more importantly, unswerving loyalty," Fury said, leaning back in his chair. "Unfortunately, the president also knows this, and that's why once she steps down, there will be an administrator waiting just outside the door offering her another post within the government. I swear it's written down somewhere in the White House that those agents are to be given another job before I can get a chance to speak to them. It annoys me to no end."

"Have you ever hired one of them before?" Natasha asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Once, and it was sheer luck that I managed to recruit him. He's still working here, you know," Fury said with a knowing smile.

"Who?" Natasha asked, frowning.

"Not telling. Do let me know if you ever figure it out, but sometimes it's the quiet ones you have to look out for," Fury said with a wink before leaning forward. "There is one other matter I wish to discuss with you."

Natasha frowned. "And what is that?"

"According to Coulson, our package is at risk. We will need to move it, and soon. I'd like to move it closer to home, so please remain on stand – by in the event that we do need to move it from the bunker in Area 51," Fury said grimly. He glanced out the window, and then sighed. "We should probably go find those two representatives before the police chief gets a headache from the chaos tonight."

Natasha nodded. "Shall I go out?" she asked.

"No, I will. You stay here and handle any incoming reports from the scattered teams," Fury said, standing up. "I'll go out and assist Woo in reining in whomever is out there, and then I'll deal with Thunder Fireworks." He glanced at her and said, "You are dismissed, Black Widow."

"Of course, sir," she said, standing up smoothly. With a simple nod, she turned and left his office, planning to get a few hours rest before dealing with the next set of problems that she just knew were about to come.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I was having too much fun with cameos in the first part, sorry. Some cameos will not appear in the rest of the story, so don't come after me about it. Roxwell is an OC. **

**Esther: Did he go home with anybody? ;)**

**I'll never be satisfied with the first part of this chapter; I apologize profusely if I completely confused people in the first part.**


	11. Tony

**XI**

**Tony**

* * *

><p>"<em>I wanted an army, but all I got was you."<em>

"_-has formally completed SAS training under the supervision of-"_

"_I'm not going to lie, Jones is a handful, but it's worth it."_

"_This isn't revenge for Coney Island, is it?"_

"_I'm going to have to put it down in the water."_

"_You won't be alone."_

Steve awoke with a jerk, the ghosts still rattling around his head as he straightened up in the hotel bed. It took him a few hours to remember that not only was he alive, but he was sitting a twentieth-first century hotel room in Washington D.C. in April. Head pounding, he groaned and forced himself out of bed, making a mental note to tire himself out completely today; complete and utter exhaustion seemed to be the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay anymore. Especially since he'd been sidelined until one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. psychologists gave him the green light for active duty, Fury's orders.

He might just take Natasha's advice and lie to the psychologists, giving them the textbook answers that would most likely satisfy them for now. On the other hand, considering that there was a very good chance he'd hallucinated an entire day, that might not be for the best.

Rubbing his head, he wondered if his meeting with Alfred F. Jones had actually happened or not. The entire encounter, just the fact that Alfred seemed to know where to find him, felt surreal. Add to that Alfred's claim to be the personification of the United States, and Steve decided that he had to have been completely crazy yesterday for the entire situation to have actually happened. Yes, he was used to the unusual, but country personifications might be a sign that he was taking his hopes to seeing old friends and the familiar a little too far.

After getting dressed, he grabbed his brown jacket off the chair and headed out into the hall. He had no idea where he was going today, but maybe finding out what actually happened to Alfred would be a good place to start. The commander had been recovering from a grievous injury when the two had first met back in 1942, but as Phillips had noticed, Jones seemed to have an innate talent for getting out of the stickiest situations alive. This ranged from battles on the front lines to even a fistfight with a high-ranking German officer that had somehow ended in the destruction of several buildings in a deserted village near the initial ambush site. If there was a close scrape with death, Phillips was able to usually count on Jones walking away from it alive.

"Captain," Sergeant Willis greeted, falling in step beside Steve, startling the latter out of his thoughts. "Good morning. Agent Fifty-six will be joining us momentarily, there's some business going on back at HQ that she needed to take care of," he added.

"Is there a problem?" Steve asked, pausing in his tracks.

"Something that apparently is fixable, sir. Mr. Jones will be joining us later at some point this morning, he had something urgent to take care of before eight," Willis replied, shrugging as he stopped with Steve.

"Wait, _Alfred_ F. Jones, right?" Steve said, taking a step back in slight surprise. He'd forgotten that Willis had been there yesterday; he'd be able to better separate reality from fantasy…

"Who else would it be, sir? He was with us for a good portion of the day, flirted shamelessly with the waitress at dinner last night, and nearly lost his wallet after… remember?" Willis asked, frowning slightly.

Steve nodded, the memories clear in his mind. He'd just been in doubt of their authenticity, not that he couldn't remember them. "I know who he is and I remember last night, I jus thought this morning that yesterday hadn't happened and I imagined the whole thing," he said before walking toward the elevator and pressing the 'down' button. "Did he say where he'd be?"

"No, just that he had to go prevent an intergalactic mishap. Or so he claimed. Whatever that means, I honestly don't want to know. I never know with that kid, either he's just unusually hyper or I'm beginning to slow down. Don't mention that last part to Fifty-six, she'll never let me live it down," he said, adding the last sentence as an afterthought.

Steve grinned. "I think, sir, I'm hardly in a position to betray you to her, she has more to give me a hard time about than you."

Willis bared his teeth in a grin. "Better you than me, kid."

Steve just laughed.

The two of them exited out onto the main floor a few minutes later, nearly walking straight into several tourists by accident. Steve spotted a surly Agent 56 sitting on a padded bench near the elevators, her fingers tapping against her knee incessantly as she listened to the speaker on the other end of the phone glued to her ear. She managed a small wave as the two men walked by before looking around and snatching an unguarded pen that was sitting on the nearby ledge.

Steve frowned when she began writing on her forearm. "What is she-"

"Betting pools back at H.Q., if I had to guess. I don't know the specifics since gambling is illegal after all to all those who are on duty, which she technically is," Willis said, shrugging. "I find it better to ask questions later, figure out first if you're really curious to know what she's up to."

"What would you recommend?" Steve asked as the two of them headed into the hotel dining room.

"I say leave it alone, primarily for plausible deniability reasons," Willis replied, looking around and snagging the first open table he spotted. "Although I'll admit I'm kind of curious too. But knowing whom we left back at home, I wouldn't be surprised if it had something do with the outcome of a mission or two. Or something as completely as stupid as stealing Fury's eye patch."

"You can do that?" Steve said, staring at Willis as the two of them sat down, 56 wandering over to their table and taking up the chair next to Willis as she stowed her phone away.

Willis shrugged. "You can do it, I wouldn't necessarily recommend it for obvious reasons," he said. "We're still searching for the last recruit that managed to do it, kid disappeared five days after Fury got the eye patch back, ten days after the initial prank."

"I'm sure wherever he is, he's laughing at the rest of us for even contemplating doing it," 56 replied. Frowning at the menu in front of her, she said, "Is the management still upset with us?"

"Not necessarily us. Something to do with some conference being hosted here a couple years ago, and the attendees wiping the continental breakfast clean," Willis said. "Apparently though, the American delegate was the ringleader. Go to hotel once with Jones, get berated for the incident for hours once you get back to H.Q."

"Agh, why do you bring that up _every time_ we travel together?" Alfred asked, startling Steve as he dragged in an extra chair behind the captain. "Mornin' Cap, sorry I'm late, I had to explain to the missus why I was still in D.C. as opposed to New York," he said, nudging the fourth chair between 56 and the empty one that had already been there when he arrived.

"Jones, we already had a chair for you, there wasn't any need to bring over an extra," Willis said tiredly.

"This one isn't for me," Alfred replied, sitting down next to Steve. Before Steve could ask for clarification, Alfred suddenly leaned over and grabbed the back of a nearby little kid's T-shirt. "Knock it off already, they're just _tourists_," he growled, hauling the kid backwards and plunking him down in the empty chair. "Hey listen," Alfred said to the child before Steve could protest the harsh treatment, "If you _behave_ for the next four hours, starting now, I'll buy you three boxes of your favorite pepperoni pizza pockets _and,_ I'll ban Arthur from ever visiting this country for the next six months," he added in a low voice as he leaned down to face the child better.

The child must have agreed because Alfred straightened up with a smile and said, "We'll start the four hours now." He watched the child for a few moments before turning back to Steve. "Sorry about that, crisis averted."

"What?" Steve said before he looked back at the child and got a good look.

For starters, it wasn't even human. From what Steve could tell, it had gray skin, no hair or nose, large red eyes, and four fingers on each hand. It was wearing a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, a red-and-white striped T-shirt, and blue jeans. Other patrons near their table were sneaking discreet glances, but the creature was resolutely ignoring them as it studied the menu.

"I take it that everything is settled then?" Willis asked Alfred, who nodded.

"The kids had watched _Independence Day_ with Tony last night, and the First Lady just wanted him gone before he got the idea to try and blow up the White House in a reenactment," Alfred said right as Steve took a drink.

Steve choked on his drink for a moment. "Did you just say _Tony_ tried to blow up the White House?" he said, glancing at Alfred in alarm. "_Tony Stark_?"

"Yup. Big blast too," the creature said in perfect English. Steve glanced at Willis and 56 for their reactions, but 56 looked bored as opposed to Willis's annoyance.

"Jones, what did I say about pinning the blame on Mr. Stark for something _your_ Tony did?" Willis asked, arching an eyebrow.

"_Nothing happened!_" Alfred protested while trying to keep his voice down at the same time. Leaning forward, he whispered, "I all but promised my firstborn to make sure Tony would behave until I got a chance to drop him off at my house after breakfast." Straightening, he leaned over to Steve and whispered, "That's my housemate, Tony. I can't formally introduce you guys until after breakfast because Tony technically doesn't exist as far as anyone is concerned, but I will after, I _promise_."

"Where's, uh, Tony from?" Steve asked as he took an offered menu from Alfred.

"Hell if I know. He hasn't told anyone yet. The ultimate irony would be if he told only Arthur, they can't stand each other," Alfred said, perusing his own menu.

"Do you know what started that?" Steve asked.

"Arthur breathed the wrong way during their first meeting, I think. I wouldn't know for sure, I wasn't paying attention to them that day," Alfred said, shaking his head. "We've gotten to the point where British _tourists_ aren't safe from Tony anymore. The only thing keeping him from taking a chunk out of the tourism industry is that the Area 51 goons are forever stalking him, waiting for him to make one little mistake, especially while I'm out of the country. So if he travels anywhere within the country, he usually does it with me," Alfred replied, shrugging.

"I'm guessing that this goes to Manhattan as well?" Steve muttered back as a waitress began heading in their direction. Alfred nodded, a small smile flickering around his lips.

"What's wrong with Manhattan, aside from the obvious addition of Fury's flagship in the river?" Willis demanded.

"Nothing, it's a code Al and I used back during the war, I few were talking about something important but secret. Although I never understood why you chose Manhattan," Steve said, glancing at Alfred.

"Nod to the Manhattan Project… the project behind the atom bomb. Which means we'll have to come up with a new city or place for the code." He pursed his lips in thought, and then said, "How about the Hoover Dam?"

"Depends. What are you hiding there?" Willis asked bluntly.

"Cosmic power. Or at least we think so," Alfred replied with a straight face, but Steve could see the other's lip twitching as he fought back a smile. "We can't test it out for sure because it's too big."

"Now you're pulling my leg, you little liar. I just found out yesterday that you're as old as Nick Fury himself, you could have at least said _something_ when we were playing that video game marathon," Willis retorted.

"You're right, I was pulling your leg about the Hoover Dam thing. And I _still_ can't tell you anything else about my age because that qualifies as a state secret, which is another thing that stays between us," Alfred said pleasantly.

"Honestly, the way your mouth has been going lately, I'm surprised we have any state secrets _left_," Willis growled right as the waitress arrived to the table. Agent 56 placed her order first before disappearing from the table, still glued to her phone.

"This reminds me of all the trouble you ever gave Phillips back during the war," Steve remarked to Alfred, who nodded in agreement.

"I think there were days where he just didn't know what to do with me," Alfred said, shrugging with one shoulder. "Even if he didn't say as much aloud," he added as he glanced at Tony as though to make sure the other was still behaving himself. "Phillips would have hated him."

Neither man could pursue the topic further as the waitress was waiting to take their orders. Agent 56, Steve noticed, was now off to the side of the dining room at an empty table, jotting notes down on a paper napkin. Alfred, after the waitress left, said, "I probably have about thirty to sixty minutes now before the hotel manager figures out I'm here and then chooses to come and chase me out," he said, glancing around nervously before settling down again.

"Did you try and eat the manager out of the house again?" Steve teased.

"_That_ was an accident, a _complete_ accident. You don't have the right to hold that over me anymore, especially since we both know the real pantry raider was Kumajirou all along!" Alfred protested despite the grin on his face. He hesitated for a moment, and then said, "And it's not my fault that the World Conference was hosted here once. I did everything I could to make Mattie host that year." Alfred sighed, glancing at Tony. He leaned over, took away a silver object, and said, "Zap one tourist and there will be hell to pay." He studied the device in his hand, sighed, and then said, "You took this from the Doctor because he was British, didn't you?"

Tony made a humphingsound while crossing his arms and looking away. Then as an afterthought, he gave Alfred what Steve supposed was the alien equivalent of the finger.

Shaking his head, Alfred muttered, "And the First Lady always wonders why I don't have kids. It's because I've already got one." He looked up as Agent 56 returned to the table and asked, "What's up?"

"There are several betting pools going on right now around H.Q.," 56 said as she sat down between Tony and Willis. "Two are related, one is not. The random one pertains to the mission in Moscow."

Alfred looked up sharply. "What are you guys doing in Moscow?"

"MI6 smoked out an ex-KGB officer by accident, they were after a different target. Fury wants the officer too, so he sent a squad out. It's a team of four versus a team of one, so we're trying to guess who will catch the officer first, and who will actually bring him back to base. Bets are split evenly down the middle, so it's back to waiting. As for the other two pools, Fury apparently fibbed to a federal worker, and we're trying to see a) how long the secret is kept and b) her reaction when she finds out," 56 explained.

"Well, at least I can say I have nothing to do with any of those, I was up here with you guys. The only mistake I made yesterday was apparently not checking my email, but Fury's got that one all sorted out," Alfred replied. He glanced at Steve and said, "I was thinking we could go to the National Air and Space Museum today because it's got a lot of stuff you missed while in the ice."

"Tony Stark did mention the museum once, and from what he said about it, it does sound pretty interesting," Steve replied. "Hey, is it true that-"

"Can I come?" Tony suddenly asked, abruptly interrupting Steve.

"No. Is what true?" Alfred asked, not even looking at Tony.

"Tony Stark said that there are rockets in there, is that true? He was pulling my leg at the time, so I don't know what he said was true or not," Steve said.

Alfred nodded. "There's stuff from the Wright Brothers all the way up the timeline to today. We'll be able to see as much as you want," he said.

"Sounds good."

"The only catch is that I have to drop Tony off at home first and pray he doesn't burn the house down," Alfred said, lowering his voice while glancing worriedly at Tony, who was still eyeing the nearby tourists. "Maybe give him a project to work on."

"Is there a tedious job you've been putting off again?" Willis asked, casually butting into the conversation again.

"I might need to think- shit, Steve, gimme your shield," Alfred said, paling slightly.

"Don't have it with me right now, why?" Steve asked, looking around for the threat, but only saw the waitress coming over with their food. "Alfred, it's just the waitress."

"Exactly," Alfred muttered back as she came up to their table.

"Mr. Jones, the manager wishes me to inform you that he is well aware of your presence here, but he's still going to grant you an hour to finish up and leave before he calls that girlfriend of yours," she said as she distributed their meals.

"Gotcha, tell him I said 'thank you'!" Alfred happily replied before diving enthusiastically into his plate.

"Isn't being a nation a tricky thing to explain to a girlfriend?" Steve muttered as they all began eating.

"As charming as she is, Jess is actually my handler. She just keeps me out of trouble, and, if the situation calls for it, defends me as she deems best," Alfred whispered back. He frowned thoughtfully, and then added, "If you want though, I can set the two of you up on a blind date, I don't think she's seeing anyone at the moment."

"That's all right, I don't want to pressure her into anything," Steve replied with a slightly awkward smile before going back to his breakfast.

He couldn't help but notice that the gleam never left Alfred's eye for the rest of the meal.


	12. Tuesday

**XII**

**Tuesday**

* * *

><p>The moment Clint Barton received Fury's summons, he knew that the situation, whatever was going on, was steadily getting out of hand.<p>

Rounding up wayward diplomats wasn't anything new for Clint, or Natasha for that matter. There was the one case back in 2000, when a few French diplomats ran afoul of a very small group of radical English, and the English had had to be talked down before they released the terrified diplomats. Then there was that one time back in 1995 when there was an incident in Budapest that quickly escalated, and then there had been that one memorable occasion in 1990 when it had been the _diplomats_ causing the trouble, wreaking havoc across Europe. Fury had had specialized S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on stand-by in case the 1990 case flew out of hand, which luckily it didn't.

But this, this was a new one.

"Can you give me a sit-rep?" Clint asked as he followed Natasha down the halls of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

"Agent Stanton's team needs back-up, as in _right now_ before things escalate. You may have to talk Thor down," Natasha said without breaking stride or looking up from her clipboard.

"Who-what?"

"Stanton was charged with finding the Nordic diplomats, who apparently traveled in a small group. The representatives from Sweden and Finland are missing, so it's just the reps from Denmark, Iceland, and Norway that still need to be rounded up," Natasha explained. "The ringleader, the Dane, his name is Mathias Kohler, apparently knows Thor, and had suggested they all get drinks and 'catch up', menacing every bar in Manhattan all night. Security cameras caught them prowling around Brooklyn earlier this morning. Don't ask me how their livers have survived this long."

"But-" Clint began again.

"The problem comes from the fact that Stanton decided to get to the root of the problem by using prescription sedatives to knock out an entire bar," Natasha said, stopping long enough to stop the impending argument. "Fury doesn't know that yet, but we need to keep the U.N. out as long as possible, his orders."

"But-"

"_Please_ Clint. And thank you," she said before turning around and leaving, Clint still confused behind her.

He frowned at her retreating back; she'd been acting odd all morning, but then again, they were in the middle of a crisis. Shrugging it off, he headed back to the elevator to head down back to the main lobby to go find Stanton. He could count on one hand the amount of vacations Fury had ever granted him so far, and this would have been Vacation #5 if Fury hadn't called him at seven in the godforsaken morning. He'd been planning to go up north to Vermont for some well-earned solitude.

_Looks like that vacation will have to wait after all_.

As he left the building, he calmly ducked as an arrow came out of nowhere and clattered against the newly repaired window. Shaking his head, he looked in the direction of the attack, and, after spotting the purple-garbed archer on the rooftop talking with someone else, flipped Kate Bishop off before hailing a taxi. The self-proclaimed 'Young Avenger' was forever trying to outsmart him as _the_ archer, but she consistently forgot that _he_ was a S.H.I.E.L.D. special ops agent and she was not.

Pulling out his phone as he buckled in, the taxi pulling away from the curb, he waited patiently as the phone on the other end rang. He knew that Stanton was most likely going to cranky since he would have had to work straight through the night, and he was used to the eight to five workday. He would have also had to cover any unpaid tabs, which, while usually going onto S.H.I.E.L.D.'s bankroll, individual agents were usually reimbursed later on in situations like this.

"_Hello?"_

"Tara? Where's Stanton?" Clint asked, startled to hear her instead of her superior.

"_Celebrating. By sharing a drink with the Icelandic and Norwegian ambassadors, Robbie almost pointed out the irony there but decided not to when he saw that Stanton had knocked out a lot of people._"

Clint sighed. Of course Stanton knocked out a lot of people, having control of one's temper wasn't exactly a top priority for S.H.I.E.L.D. applications for the eight to five job. "Where are you guys?" he asked, speaking loud enough for the taxi driver to hear. He'd asked the man to do a circuit around the block earlier, when getting in, but now he would have a definite location.

"_The Brown Jug. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hangout spot in Brooklyn_."

Just for that alone, the taxi driver was going to charge him extra. "All right, the Brown Jug it is," he said, eyes flickering to the driver in the rearview mirror; the other man scowled but complied anyway. "I'll be there in five, try to keep anyone from leaving," he said in the phone before hanging up.

He didn't blame the taxi driver for not wanting to go to the Brown Jug. The bar was notorious for quickly intoxicating its patrons, and had narrowly evaded several lawsuits in the past for all sorts of offenses. Intoxicated taxi passengers rarely paid at all or worse: started fistfights in the backseat of the taxi. Instead of getting paid, taxi drivers preferred getting rid of their riders as fast as possible, and Clint didn't blame them at all. So if a driver didn't have to stick around after dropping off a person at one of the rowdiest bars in New York City, he was _gone_. S.H.I.E.L.D. officers went there either to get fantastically drunk or take it easy, amusing each other with their comrades' actions.

When Clint got out of the taxi, the car was gone as soon as he'd shut the door behind him, leaving the faint odor of burning rubber in its wake. Clint just sighed before entering the bar with a faint sense of trepidation.

The interior of the Brown Jug was unusually quiet to Clint's expectations, even for a Tuesday morning. Instead of noise and general chatter as the bartender talked with his (very few) daytime visitors, there was complete silence except for a few whispers coming from a corner, and there were patrons draped over almost every available surface.

"Did I miss the tornado?" Clint blurted out, staring at the bar before him.

"Be glad you did," Tara said from behind him. A petite blond girl from Ohio, she was sitting on a nearby bar stool where Stanton was talking to two men that Clint didn't recognize, Robbie sitting right behind her. The two were field agent recruits, but possible candidates for the Special Ops department.

"How did you, you know, knock them all out?" Clint asked, turning back to find that even Thor was slumped forward on the front counter. "And more importantly, how did you get Thor?"

"I was having a crisis in the bathroom when I found my prescription bottle of sedatives. Seemed like a good idea the time. Still does, actually," Stanton said serenely, turning in his seat to glance at Clint.

Clint turned to stare at him. "Are you trying to tell me you just drugged not only a bunch of American citizens, but _an international diplomat?_ Are you_ insane_?" he demanded, unable to even comprehend the international consequences at the moment.

Stanton sniffed in disdain. "They weren't going to listen to me any other way," he said, crossing his arms.

"You can't just do that!" Clint's career was flashing before his eyes as he turned around to the inevitable problems that were going to arise from this. "You're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, you should know that already!"

One of the other diplomats, the one with a puffin on his shoulder, glanced at his friend, who was sipping from a glass of water. "Lukas, did you see anything in the last forty-five minutes?" he asked, frowning slightly.

Lukas shook his head in apparent dismay. "No, I was having a little eyesight trouble, Emil. Did you see anything?" he asked, frowning.

Emil shook his head, the puffin mimicking him. No, I was talking to Agent Stanton here about good vacation spots," he said. "Too busy talking to really notice anything going on."

"Seriously, what happened?" Clint demanded as he moved to check over the few patrons near Thor. "I have to know what to tell the paramedics…" his voice trailed off as he noted with relief that the patrons were breathing regularly, and the bartender had even helpfully tilted one on to his side. Either way though, Fury was going to be livid once he heard about this, although Clint didn't know which part of the report would set the man's temper off for good. Fury did have the capability after all to murder every S.H.I.E.L.D. officer responsible for this, and make it all look like a goddamn accident.

"Okay, okay, I think we can still salvage this," Clint said, finally realizing the consequence of having drunk Americans getting sedated like this: lawsuits. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s primary lawyer, Bernadette Rosenthal, was good, but Clint didn't know if she was _that_ good. Then there was no telling what the Danish government would do once they heard about what happened to their man, Mathias Kohler. "Does anyone even know where Mr. Kohler even _is_?"

"Slumped over on Thor's left, he's about to fall over," Lukas said, nodding to the bar counter. Clint turned back in time to see the man in question let out a snort in his sleep, the movement completely dislodging him from the stool. "Now he's on the ground," Lukas said dryly as Clint rushed over. If the man died from a concussion on Clint's watch, it was going to be on Clint's head at the end of the day.

"Tara, call 911. We have to get everyone to a hospital, just in case," Clint said finally as he knelt at Kohler's side, feeling a pulse. "Including Thor," he said after glancing at the sleeping Asgardian. "I don't know what side effects a sedative will have on a god, and I _really_ hope we didn't just kill him-"

"Uungh."

Clint almost jumped a foot in the air when Kohler groaned and easily rolled over onto his stomach. "Hey Nor, we have _got_ to do that again," he said, grinning broadly. "Except we should bring Alfred next time. And Gilbert." He paused, frowned, and then asked, "We never did find them, did we? Can't really remember much of last night, it was all a blur… although I think Francis got kicked out of the club we were in, I definitely remember that."

"You and Thor went on a drinking spree. Emil and I went out and checked into a hotel around eleven, and then we came looking for you around nine. We found you here at nine-thirty, right as Agent Stanton was taking care of everyone," Lukas said emotionlessly, glancing at his friend for confirmation.

"Huh. Didn't even see you leave," Kohler said as he pulled himself up. He stumbled, but Clint caught him in time. Grinning when he spotted Thor, Kohler said, "Guys, hey Thor, we should try a second round tonight, I didn't see who won…"

"Oh no, you're going to the hospital, all of you. Tara, 911 if you don't mind, Stanton, make sure the tab is settled. S.H.I.E.L.D. will make sure you're reimbursed," Clint said, draping one of Kohler's arms around his shoulders.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

* * *

><p>"Your phone is ringing."<p>

Spider-Man, Peter Parker to his aunt, classmates, and friends, glanced at Peter Kirkland before pulling his cell phone out. When he saw that it was Nick Fury, he put it away again. "It's not important, just Fury. He's already mad at me for something else, although in my defense, it wasn't my fault. It was Teddy pretending to be me, that's the problem with shape-shifters. You can't tell who they really are," he explained, and Peter nodded. The two of them were perched on top of a rooftop overlooking Fifth Avenue, but Spider-Man could see the Williamsburg Bridge from where they were. There were the faint sirens of ambulances, and he hoped that it wasn't an emergency that required his attendance. "The thing is though, is that Fury doesn't care what I say, he never takes me seriously. Then again, most of the big guys don't," Spider-Man added after a moment.

"I _totally_ understand where you're coming from with that. My jerk of a big brother never takes me seriously, and it's annoying because everyone else important listens to him. So if he ignores me, then so do they," Peter said, dangling his legs over the edge. "But I like you, you're cool."

"Thanks."

The two of them were quiet for a few seconds. "You wanna go back to web-slinging?" Peter finally asked.

Spider-Man shrugged. "Sure. Just try not to rip my hair out again, gotta keep the secret ID here," he said, standing up and stretching the kinks out of his spine. "Are you absolutely sure your parents are okay with this?" he asked, peering suspiciously down at the smaller Peter.

"Well, I haven't seen them yet, but I do have a certain level of independence from them, and I trust you," Peter said, scooting away from the roof's edge so that he could scramble to his feet. "C'mon, let's go!"

Where had Spider-Man heard those exact words?

Oh, right. Sometime yesterday afternoon, when he'd finished cleaning up a few small thieves in Central Park. He'd just finished webbing them to an iron lamppost when Peter ran by, chasing after pigeons. Spider-Man quickly found himself as the kid's next attraction, and, after a series of misunderstandings on the part of the public, the two of them ended up hanging out all day, night, and that morning. As much as Spider-Man loved the kid though, he knew they had to find the kid's parents eventually, and would have to continue the search they started yesterday.

After all, it wouldn't be hard to find two British tourists in the sea of Americans.

The trick was doing that without attracting the notice of the media, namely the Daily Bugle.

Spider-Man was glad he hadn't been called into work yet.

Hoisting Peter up onto his shoulders (the kid weighed less than a panicking MJ, which was something Spider-Man was secretly grateful for), he made sure Peter had a good grip before he said, "Hold on, and easy on the mask. I'd rather you didn't become a media hero at my expense."

"Secret ID, got it," Peter said as he wrapped his arms around Spider-Man's neck. "But if I've already seen your face, why won't you tell me your name?" he asked curiously.

"A _secret_ ID is supposed to be a secret. Where do you think your parents are anyway?" Spider-Man asked, hoping to get a sense of where to start looking for the missing parents.

"No idea. Mama has already come here a lot in the past, but I can't remember the last time Papa was here," Peter admitted, his hands tightening around Spider-Man's neck as he adjusted into a more comfortable position. "So maybe Mama is showing Papa around," he suggested.

"All right, let me know then if you happen to see them while we're swinging around," Spider-Man said, cricking his neck in preparation for the venture. "Oh, and like we discussed yesterday, I'm leaving you somewhere safe the _second_ there's a sign of trouble anywhere, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, don't move until it's safe unless I'm in immediate danger. Yeah, I got it," Peter recited with a touch of impatience in his voice. "Can we get to the web-slinging part already?"

_Nothing like a taste of your own medicine, eh kid?_

Fury would probably be laughing at him for this, if he weren't already mad about the ignored phone calls.

"All right, are you holding on tightly?" he asked, approaching the edge of the rooftop.

"_Yes, _let's get going already!"

Taking a deep breath, Spider-Man extended his hands and shot webbing to the opposite building of the busy street below, just to get a start on the momentum for the faster-paced web-slinging action that people were accustomed to seeing.

Then he took off.

Peter's squeals of delight were lost to the wind as Spider-Man swung forward, mindful to go slow as to not dislodge his passenger. The two of them swooped low over the street, startling passersby and taxi drivers below. Ignoring the angry yells in his wake, Spider-Man reminded himself that he was technically 'on the clock', and so had to focus on staying airborne instead of enjoying the ride. Part of this task included making sure that the object he connected to wasn't flimsy or otherwise he'd risk pulling it down by accident. The last time that had happened, Fury berated him for two hours before throwing him to the wolves that were the media. To be fair though, Spider-Man had made it quite clear he wasn't repentant at all about the damage since the billboard in question belonged to the Daily Bugle, which, as usual, was slamming him.

Spider-Man couldn't wait until the public got tired of that.

"_This is awesome!"_ Peter yelled in Spider-Man's ear, and, feeling particularly daring, Spider-Man went into free-fall as his response before shooting out another web a few seconds later.

"_Do that again!"_ Peter yelled, and Spider-Man grinned underneath his mask. As infectious as the kid's enthusiasm was, Spider-Man did have to be careful. If the kid got hurt, Fury would murder him before the British government did. He resolved to do one more trick away from the more populated areas of the city before it was time to stop for now; his arms were beginning to ache under the strain.

Swinging low over Central Park, Spider-Man maneuvered himself so that he would fly over the Lake before landing on Bow Bridge. This part was tricky, as he couldn't fly directly over the water since there was nothing to latch onto. But he figured out a path that, once carefully executed, would land him on the bridge itself, no harm done to anyone. His last free fall would be a little before the landing, before he crossed the water.

_One, two, three, free fall…_

_BAM!_

Spider-Man's shriek of surprise drowned out the startled squawks of the two seagulls that had _literally_ flown out of nowhere and collided with the web-slinger. Spider-Man was further deafened when Peter screamed in his ear, disorienting him even more as a mass of white and gray feathers filled his vision. Thinking quickly, he shot one more web out, attaching it to the bridge railing. He silently swore as he realized his miscalculation, the web turning into some impromptu rope swing that brought him _underneath_ the bridge and turning him to face the sky for a split second. The _crack_ of the web snapping on the other end was audible for even Spider-Man, who had a still-screaming kid on his back.

_Shit_.

The two of them landed in the Lake with twin splashes, Spider-Man grunting as he hit the water. Panic filled his thoughts as he twisted around looking for Peter, wondering where the hell the kid went until he saw Peter swimming back to the surface.

"_That was so awesome!"_ Peter crowed as soon as Spider-Man resurfaced. "Can we _please_ do that again? Mama, did you see that?"

_Mama?_ Confused, Spider-Man turned around to find a couple that had been sitting on the banks of the lake nearby, a little white dog yipping and running around the standing partner. The smaller of the two, the one sitting down, had a sort of horrified expression on his face while his partner was frowning in disapproval. "Are… are those your parents?" he asked, glancing at Peter, who nodded.

"Yeah! Mama's from Finland and Papa's from Sweden. You wanna come meet them?" Peter asked excitedly, glancing between his parents and Spider-Man.

_I would if your dad wasn't scaring the crap out of me._ The Swede was still watching them carefully while the Finn tried to catch the dog to put the leash back on. The Swede's scowl was growing deeper the longer the two of them delayed, and Spider-Man suspected he had a low survival rate at the moment when faced with an angry parent. "Uhh…I actually have to go and see what Fury wants, I think my phone is fried and he's gonna get crankier the more I put it off," Spider-Man said finally. "Tell you what though. Stop by S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters later this afternoon, I should be done then. I can meet your parents there," he offered.

"All right, sounds good. Can't wait to see you then!" Peter said cheerfully before he started swimming over to the couple, relief written on their faces at their son's apparent unharmed condition.

Spider-Man meanwhile made a break for it before the police or media showed up. There was no way that someone other than the couple saw what just happened, and Spider-Man preferred to keep it that way.

* * *

><p>Sitwell couldn't believe that against all odds, the crazy Hungarian from Budapest in 1990 was not only alive, but actually remembered him.<p>

"Remind me of why you even called for help in the first place," Sitwell growled as he remained absolutely still. He could hear the bustle of the plaza behind the unattended hot dog cart, but more importantly, he could still hear _her_.

"The frying pan," Ryan Sandler replied without hesitation.

_Of course_. It all boiled down to the frying pan. The two men were all that was left of a five-man squad all because _someone_, Sitwell didn't remember who, had come up with the idea to sneak up on the woman from behind and snatch the frying pan from her hands. Just to make it easier for them to approach her and bring her back to headquarters as ordered.

Two men went down almost right away, one getting the pan to the head while the other got the handle in the solar plexus. The third tried to bolt before the Hungarian, Elizaveta Hédeváry, used the frying pan as some sort of _frisbee_, catching even Sitwell off guard. The poor victim however was nailed in the back and went down like a sack of bricks. Sitwell, without thinking, tried to race Hédeváry to the suddenly free frying pan, but stopped the moment he realized he was going to lose, and then ran when he saw the spark of recognition in her eyes.

"Heracles! Have you seen two of those S.H.I.E.L.D. idiots run by?"

Both men jumped at Hédeváry's voice, but otherwise did not dare to give their position away. Sitwell couldn't hear the response, but they did hear a frustrated growl a few minutes later.

"Too bad we can't bait her into a trap, that would make everything so much easier," Sitwell grumbled, closing his eyes in an attempt to rest.

"Well, she did say yesterday she was looking for someone named 'Roderich Edelstein', she even asked me before we were established as the 'enemy'," Sandler whispered back, freezing as they both heard the familiar footsteps pass by the other side of the stall. "Christ, I can't remember the last time I was this scared of a woman."

"What, Widow doesn't scare you?" Sitwell asked, glancing at him curiously.

Sandler shook his head. "Not after Budapest of '95. The most human I've ever seen her, but I think of that whenever she starts to intimidate me," he said, shrugging. "But Hédeváry… that's a whole different story."

Sitwell rolled his eyes. "You think Hédeváry is scary now? I happened to be in Budapest in 1990, I genuinely thought my life was over then," he said, pulling out a tablet and calling up the list of World Conference diplomats. "Now I'm pretty sure I saw the name 'Roderich Edelstein' very recently, either yesterday or earlier this morning," he murmured almost to himself as he scanned through the list of names. "Damn it, I swear I saw it…"

"Oh, I believe you. It's just a matter of finding the name before she finds _us_," Sandler whispered angrily. "_So hurry up already!"_

"Shut up!" Sitwell almost kicked him to emphasize his point, but was too distracted by the useless technology in his hands. Cursing the stupid techs that made up the equipment without informational courses, he finally found the name in question.

"Roderich Edelstein, the World Conference representative for Austria," Sitwell reported, tilting the tablet screen toward Sandler, who let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Lewinsky's on that one, I'll text him now to coordinate a meet up," he added as he pulled up the text feature on the cell phone. Slipping the phone back into his pocket, he rested against the cart and said, "Well, done with that."

"Now what?" Sandler asked.

"We wait and pray."

The waiting proved to be costly for the two of them.

The cart owner, for one thing, returned to his hot dog cart and shooed the two men with threats of calling the police. Sitwell figured though that they were lucky since Hédeváry had evidently given up and left. The only real downside was that Lewinsky had yet to reply. His phone was definitely on; Sitwell called it twice but got sent to voicemail both times. The numerous texts went unanswered, and Sitwell finally gave up and called the S.H.I.E.L.D. technicians and asked them to activate Lewinsky's tracker and tell him where the hell the idiot went off to now. That took a little negotiating; the techs disliked being snapped at if it wasn't a life-or-death situation, and failed to understand that a frying pan did count as a life-or-death situation, even when there were three men down from said frying pan. Sitwell ended up bribing the head technician with a quarter of his paycheck for the location, but figured the money would be worth it in the end.

"Lewinsky is at the Ritz Hotel," Sitwell said, studying the message on his phone. "That's a five minute walk from here, if we're lucky, the Austrian is there too."

"_Where_ would the Austrian be?" a cool female voice inquired.

Sitwell felt his heart plummet into his stomach as he looked up and made eye contact with Elizaveta Hédeváry. She was wearing a pretty outfit, but he could see the boots and the frying pan, the latter of which was not well hidden behind her back. She was clearly prepared for a diplomatic meeting, butt kicking, or worse: both. "Ah, Miss Hédeváry, how are you?" he asked pleasantly.

"Better, now that I know I wasn't imagining you threatening my friend sixteen years ago," she said, her tone matching his.

Sitwell grimaced. "I won't like, I'd hoped you'd forgotten about that. How are they doing? You're looking just as well as you did sixteen years ago," he said, starting to take a few steps back, gently tugging Sandler back as well.

She smiled thinly in response. "Oh, if only flattery could save your hide," she said, her grip tightening on the frying pan. "I _really_ haven't forgotten what you ended up doing to my friend."

"Now, now, we were acting under orders, Fury's orders," Sitwell said, remembering the Western-style showdown in London that had resulted in the arrests of Antonio Carriedo, Francis Bonnefoy, and Gilbert Beilschmidt. Fury hadn't been able to savor his victory for very long, the United Nations had unexpectedly stepped in, challenging his authority. That resulted in the still-standing orders that Fury could not arrest either of the three as long as they shall live, and in the trio's freedom.

For some odd reason, Fury gave Alfred F. Jones the cold shoulder for a little while after that too. Sitwell never understood that.

"Yes, well, that doesn't change the fact that you kidnapped an Italian and used him as bait against Carriedo. I don't like it when people hurt my friends, as annoying as they can get. I _especially_ don't like it when Roderich is threatened," Hédeváry said pleasantly. "And I never got to repay the favor I owe you from sixteen years ago, it would be a _shame_ to let it go to waste-"

The second the frying pan came out, Sitwell gave up negotiating and ran. Not his proudest moment in his S.H.I.E.L.D. career, but that was one favor he wished she'd leave unpaid, not when he was about to suffer the consequences.

Sandler was good, keeping pace next to him. It reminded Sitwell that he didn't exactly have to outrun Hédeváry, but rather outrun Sandler.

He never saw the frying pan coming until it missed the back of his head. Sandler howled in surprise as the pan got him in the gut, sending him straight in Sitwell's direction. Sitwell however saw the maneuver right out of the corner of his eye, and somehow managed to dodge him, twisting so that he found himself stumbling backwards as Hédeváry stared in confusion for a split second when she realized her trick didn't work. Then she immediately realized that Sitwell was actually still standing and not sprawled in the street, and then Sitwell sprinted for the Ritz Hotel, which thankfully was straight ahead.

He supposed that the only reason he got past security was that he had the element of surprise; it wasn't every day that panicking soldiers came running at the guards.

"Thank you thank you thank you-" he said as numerous people wordlessly held doors open so he could crash his way in, somehow avoiding all that _glass_. He burst through the lobby and headed straight in the direction of some lovely piano music he could faintly hear; piano meant music, which meant an audience, which in turn meant a hiding place.

The damn rug tripped him at the last minute.

The pianist leaped out of the way as did audience members as Sitwell literally crashed his way through, tripping on chairs, rug and people, only ending when he collapsed on the piano itself, smashing the keys into a jarring discordant melody that ended in a faint wail from the pianist, who had gone paper white in the face.

It occurred to Sitwell, as people cautiously approached him to make sure he was all right, that the pianist looked oddly familiar. As in, 'I saw your face less than twenty minute ago' oddly familiar.

"Get that crazy woman under control," he managed to gasp out to a rather badly startled Roderich Edelstein before succumbing to unconsciousness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Back! Next chapter: the Asian nations, Ukraine, and Poland with the Baltic Trio. **

**You guys are awesome for being patient with me.**


	13. Fireworks

**XIII**

**Fireworks**

* * *

><p>"Hi Jimmy!"<p>

S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Jimmy Woo jumped at the chipper voice in his ear… and then scowled when he recognized Sharon Carter. "Don't you have something else you could be doing other than bothering me?" he asked, accepting the offered cup of coffee.

"Yeah, but Fury wanted me here instead," she said, settling down on the stonewall overlooking the harbor. Scanning the crowds, she said, "Yours shouldn't be so hard, apparently all five know each other and most likely will be in a group."

"I'm actually not chasing diplomats, I'm looking for two thieves just because Thunder Fireworks won't stop yelling about their stolen merchandise for more than two minutes," Woo countered, downing half the coffee in one, searing gulp.

"Check your dossier, I'm supposed to help you find the reps from China, Japan, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Vietnam, and South Korea," Sharon said, waving the small tablet in front of his face. "In addition to finding the fireworks thieves," she added after a moment of thought, frowning when she studied the tablet screen again.

"Well, I think that the representatives from South Korea and Hong Kong stole the fireworks, so we find them, we find the fireworks. Assuming those haven't been launched yet," Woo said as he climbed on top of a low wall lining the harbor. It was turning out to be a lovely day, and families were already beginning to fill the areas surrounding the docks that hosted the Ellis Island and Liberty Island boat tours. He suspected that Sharon had gotten her orders last minute since she was still wearing jeans and the common 'I3 NYC' T-shirt with a Yankees baseball cap. It was either that or she was going to attempt fooling the missing representatives into thinking she was an ordinary tourist. "How do you want to do this?" he asked, glancing down at her.

"Where's your team for starters?" she asked, looking back up at him.

"Got reassigned, I told Fury I could handle this one on my own. Someone needed help with the Turkish and Greek representatives, something about a swordfight near Times Square less than ten to fifteen minutes ago," Jimmy replied, glancing back around the moving throngs of people.

"Wait, a legitimate swordfight with actual swords?"

"Why do you think backup was needed?" Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced down at her.

Sharon looked crushed for a moment. "That actually sounds pretty exciting," she said finally. "The closest I ever got to an actual swordfight was when I nearly smacked Captain America with those training staffs that Sergeant Willis is so fond of when he's teaching the recruits close-quarters combat. I had a helmet on, thank God, but I still don't think I'll ever be able to look him in the eye ever again after that."

"How bad did you hit him?" Jimmy asked, glancing down at her in alarm.

"Not bad, I mean, he had his shield because he was practicing with Widow on something or other on the other side of the gym, but he'd come over because apparently I was making a mistake with the lesson," Sharon said, cringing. "The class thought it was pretty funny though."

"Since when did you have a class?" Jimmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't, I was covering for Willis for ten minutes. It was all bad timing," Sharon replied stiffly. "Can we please focus now?"

"Sorry for wasting your time," Jimmy muttered under his breath, ignoring the woman's scowl. For a moment, the two scanned the chattering crowds, children running around, and Deadpool standing near the outskirts, not causing trouble for once. "What is he doing?" Jimmy finally asked, nodding in Deadpool's direction.

"Cutting the air, or at least trying to," Sharon said tiredly once she'd spotted the mercenary. "Alice from HR says that Deadpool is apparently convinced that the person he's hunting is on the other side of the 'fourth wall', so he's spent the last three weeks trying to get through it with a knife. Fury doesn't care what he does so long as it keeps him busy and out of trouble."

"Okay then…"

Sharon looked back around at the crowd. "I have an idea. Maybe we should search along the harbor edge, they've got fireworks. If you're going to launch fireworks without hurting people, your best bet is to do it over the water. So you'd either aim the fireworks over the harbor-"

"_What?_ Like a cannon?" Jimmy asked, not bothering to hide his alarm.

"Got a better way to do it? The other option is that they're in a boat with very few or no other people in as well," Sharon said, twisting around to scan the harbor. Jimmy turned as well, but only sighed at the multitude of boats that were in the harbor; aside from the usual ferries and whatnot, there were also a few brave sailboats.

"How many boats are actually allowed in the harbor?" Jimmy asked in disbelief.

"No idea. Let's just get going. I'm thinking we can use the firework thieves to lure the other three back here, and both Fury and Thunder Fireworks can be happy again," Sharon said, jumping off the wall and stretching her legs. She raised her cell phone and said, "I'll call if I see anything."

"Will do."

Then without another word she disappeared into the crowds.

Shaking his head, Jimmy turned back to the crowds before jumping down as well. While a high vantage point would be a good idea, it would also make him stand out a little too much, alerting his presence to possible prey and enemies alike. Asking around would yield the same risks, so he found himself stuck wandering through the people, occasionally checking the tablet to refresh his memory of the two thieves' faces. He was ninety-nine percent sure that the thieves were the representatives, but the fact that didn't add up was that diplomatic ambassadors had blatantly stole private property in a foreign country. He wasn't into international politics, but he even knew that was a dumb thing to do, especially since the American media would have a field day with the news.

"…is he doing with that anyway?"

"He's attaching it to the smoke pipe…"

"No, that would completely take out the tug boat…"

Jimmy's head snapped in the direction of a group of three tourists who were leaning on the railing overlooking the harbor and, stepping back a step, saw what it was they were watching.

There was a little tugboat floating aimlessly around in the water, and there were two figures on the roof attaching something that looked suspiciously like rockets to the small smoke stack. Jimmy started reaching for his radio to report this in when he recognized the two figures as the same duo from Thunder Fireworks' security cameras.

_Damn it!_

Still raising his radio, he keyed in Sharon's frequency, hoping she still had an earpiece on or something similar to that. To his dismay however, all he got was static from her end, which meant that she'd either turned her radio off or was too far out of range to be of any use. Swearing to himself, Jimmy climbed onto the wall, trying to calculate the best way to get to the two targets without them realizing that he was about to sneak up on them.

"_Kaoru! Im Yong Soo! What are you doing down there?"_

Startled by the shouts, Jimmy glanced over and spotted what had to be the Chinese diplomat leaning against the railing as well, a scowl set on his (her?) face as (s)he raised a hand in anger. The two figures on the tugboat looked over, one tilted his head before turning to his companion before saying something, to which the companion readily agreed and waved to the Chinese diplomat before going back to tying whatever it was to the tugboat.

While the Chinese diplomat sputtered in anger as the other two deliberately ignored him, Jimmy sighed, pulled his jacket off, and dropped it to the ground. There really was only one way he could diffuse this situation quickly before it got out of control. Then he prayed for a (relatively) safe landing before promptly diving into the water below.

He was no stranger to water operations. The harbor was hardly the cleanest place he'd ever dived into, but he'd been in worse. Sputtering as he resurfaced, he glanced back to find that his dive had attracted a crowd almost right away; people were staring and pointing as he resurfaced, and he briefly hoped that his coat would remain untouched before he turned and began rapidly swimming toward the tugboat.

Unfortunately, his splash had also attracted the attention of the two thieves. They both looked completely puzzled in the brief glance that Jimmy had of them as he kept swimming toward them, but one of them, he couldn't tell who, must have caught sight of the S.H.I.E.L.D. badge on his arm because when he looked up again, one of them was scrambling for the edge of the tugboat while the more serious-looking one was gauging the level of threat that Jimmy presented.

Even though he knew it wouldn't work, Jimmy still tried to grab the robe of the one that remained. The man smacked his hand away though, and disappeared into the cabin. Jimmy immediately knew what the man was going to do, and grabbed a rope dangling off the boat before it could start moving away. He managed to haul himself up right as the tugboat began chugging away toward the open sea, but he ignored that in favor of searching the cabin… that was suddenly empty.

_What?_

Frowning, Jimmy went back out to find that somehow, the man had escaped the tugboat, and was pulling his companion out of the water and into the hijacked sailboat. There were two female civilians keeping the sailboat steady against their extra passengers, but as Jimmy braced himself against the steadily moving tugboat, he watched as the four of them settled themselves in the boat, and the one he'd tried to take a swipe at turned to face him. For a moment, neither of them did anything.

Then the man lifted his wrist and tapped it, nodding toward the tugboat.

Jimmy belatedly remembered the rockets. He turned; ready to diffuse what he hoped wasn't bombs or rockets but rather-

_Fireworks?_

It all suddenly made sense.

He didn't know how old the two diplomats were, but if their act of blatant disobedience toward the Chinese ambassador was anything to go by, defying the authority figure was the way to go for these two. And stringing fireworks set to go off to a moving tugboat was the way to go about not only pleasing the public (and most likely winning their favor) but also disobeying the Chinese ambassador in the most flamboyant manner possible…

Fireworks tied to a timer on an unmanned tugboat.

Jimmy dove off the tugboat with seconds to spare.

He resurfaced in time to see fireworks going off as the tugboat steadily moved through the harbor, a moving display of color and noise. Grumbling about the state of his clothes, he began slowly swimming back to the docks, where he noted the Chinese ambassador waiting impatiently for the representatives from Hong Kong and South Korea. A similarly dressed man was standing nearby, snapping photographs of the moving fireworks display as the sailboat pulled up to the docks. The Chinese ambassador turned to help the two men and two women (_more_ representatives, Jimmy realized with a flash of irritation) out of the sailboat.

The group of six were about to leave the dock itself, about to disappear into the crowd when Jimmy did the last ditch move of splashing the smallest, a young woman, with a soaked sleeve.

"Hey!" she snapped, turning around to glare at him. The Chinese ambassador was _fast_, moving between her and Jimmy. She snapped at him in another language, one that Jimmy didn't recognize, but he waved her off.

"What was that for?" the Chinese ambassador (male, definitely male) said, glaring down at Jimmy.

"Oh, nothing other than that we wanted your attention," Sharon said sweetly, magically appearing in the group's path and effectively blocking them on the ramp between the dock and dry land.

"Other than the theft of the fireworks and the tugboat, we have a few things to discuss in privacy," Jimmy explained, glancing at the tugboat, which was now surrounded by the U.S. Coast Guard. Fury was going to be, well, furious about that. "Preferably now, with all six of you," he said, flashing his S.H.I.E.L.D. badge at the group.

The ambassador's lips thinned, but he nodded nonetheless. "Very well, lead the way," he said through clenched teeth.

Sharon wrinkled her nose when Jimmy passed her to lead the group; she'd be taking up the rear. "You smell awful," she said bluntly as Jimmy walked by.

"Well, I did just swim in the Hudson," he countered, too tired for their usual easy banter. His all-nighter had been topped off with an unexpected swim, and he just wanted to rest now.

He was going to sleep for a long time after this.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure about this?"<p>

Tabitha 'Tabby' Smith scowled at the S.H.I.E.L.D. minion. She really hated dealing with these guys in general, and she'd just come to Fifth Avenue for a harmless day of shopping. "Yes guys, I'm sure I didn't see a group of four wandering around here. And if I did, I'm not sure I'd help you anyway. I still haven't forgotten Halloween, you know," she said, placing a hand on her hip.

The minion looked unhappy, no doubt wondering what the hell was she talking about. She didn't blame him, it was another S.H.I.E.L.D. minion that had tried to get her arrested on Halloween, but she still blamed the organization as a whole for the subsequent mess. The funny thing was that Wolverine had taken her side for _once_, and had even partaken in a shouting match with Fury.

Except Wolverine was back in Canada for the next four weeks. So Tabby couldn't exactly play a prank on this particular minion even though she desperately wanted to. "Good luck," she said instead, rolling her eyes before she turned on her heel and continued walking to the boutique she'd spotted earlier. The shopping trip had meant to be therapeutic after a strenuous week of constant sessions in the Danger Room at Xavier's mansion, but the S.H.I.E.L.D. minions had slightly wrecked that aspect for her.

_Idiots_.

Slipping inside the boutique, she began scanning the racks of clothing for something nice to wear to that formal event that Xavier was planning on taking the younger class… in the event they actually behaved themselves for the two weeks leading up to it.

Humming to herself, she pulled down a black knee-length dress and held it up herself in front of the mirror. Tilting her head, she mused over the color schemes, thinking she could use a sash or a cloth belt of some kind to splash some color on the outfit. Or maybe she had something in her closet, or, if she were extremely lucky, Amora wouldn't mind letting her borrow something…

"Oh honey, don't pick that dress."

Tabby looked up in time to see a blond man hand off two bags to another before he came over. "What's wrong with it?" she asked as two more joined the one holding the bags, the three careful to stay close to the first. "And I'm sorry, but who are you?" she added as the blond man began sifting through the clothes racks.

"Feliks. Now let's see what we've got here." Pulling out what looked like a suit ensemble, he tossed it to Tabby before digging through the racks again. "The dress won't compliment your figure enough, you need something with class and style while it also compliments _you_," he added, tossing another outfit over his shoulder. "Come on, I think these three should do the trick. Liet, we'll be done in a few," he added to the man carrying the bags, who offered a shaky smile in response. "Now let's see what we can do with you," he said, hustling Tabby to the back of the store.

"Tabby, my name is Tabby," Tabby added before Feliks all but pushed her through the dressing room doors. "And I hope you have _some_ fashion sense."

"Tabby, trust me when I say that I've been doing this for centuries," Feliks said, winking conspiratorially before Tabby disappeared behind the curtains of the dressing room.

As she changed, Tabby could hear a hushed argument outside. 'Liet' was fretting too much about someone named Ivan coming to find them, Feliks thought he was overreacting. Every now and then a higher-pitched voice would pipe in and rile up 'Liet' all over again. The third one was quiet, Tabby knew that because after listening to them bicker for almost ten minutes.

"Hey Feliks, sure all of these will work for a fancy dinner party?" she asked through the curtains as she pulled the cream-colored skirt on.

"Don't worry, it will work for both the dinner party _and_ other nice events. I've got you covered here," Feliks replied. "Almost ready?"

"Now I am," Tabby said once she'd finished adjusting the black top after slipping into the black heels. Pushing aside the curtains, she said, "Well?"

Feliks hummed to himself as he circled her, studying the outfit. "Will you be leaving your hair as is?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Hm. In which case, we might have to go with a darker-colored outfit. Try the pants with the gold belt and the gray shirt with black sleeves," he said. Looking at the tallest of the three men sitting on the chairs nearby, he said, "Liet, what do you think?"

The man blinked for a moment. "Um, I'd go with your advice with blond hair, I don't quite remember what it is since it's been a while-" he said nervously, the smallest of the three trying not to snigger.

"Right! Dark colors. Back to what I suggested, Tabby. Leave the shoes, we can figure those out once we settle on an outfit," Feliks said happily, gesturing for her to head back behind the fitting room curtains.

Shrugging, Tabby did as told.

In any other situation, Tabby would have lost interest or patience by the third outfit, but Feliks's enthusiasm was infectious. Whenever she disappeared back behind the curtain, Feliks would disappear long enough to grab a few more for her to try on. At one point, he even went into his own dressing room and came out to model alongside her. The shop owner showed up at one point, and Tabby half expected him to kick them both out for taking forever, but instead, he'd just wanted to snap a few photographs to use on the store website. Feliks' companions seemed to be used to this behavior from Feliks, as first 'Liet' and then the shortest one of the bunch started providing feedback for both Feliks and Tabby. The one in the middle remained glued to his laptop, but Tabby was having way too much fun with these guys to be bothered too much.

"How does this look?" Tabby asked, twirling in the short black and silver skirt that ran down halfway her thighs. Adjusting the black blouse, she added, "Yes or no to accessories?"

"I have some jewelry and a small purse that might go with that," the owner offered as the door to the boutique opened. "Let me check in the back."

"Sure thing," Tabby said. She froze though when she looked up and recognized the S.H.I.E.L.D. officials she thought she'd scared off earlier. "What are you yahoos doing here?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips.

"Looking for them," the minion said, nodding to the trio who immediately froze when they realized that the men were looking for them. "And one other, but I don't see him," the minion added, frowning as he looked around.

"What's going on?" Feliks said, coming out of the dressing room in a flashy pink outfit.

"We're looking for Feliks Lukasiewitz," the minion said, frowning. "I suppose you wouldn't have seen him? He's Polish?"

"Yeah, it's Lukasie_wicz_," Feliks said, patting the minion on the shoulder before turning to Tabby. "_That_, that is beautiful and complimentary on you, if I were you, I'd go with that outfit. Don't forget, black heels will go with the black hose. Keep that in mind, and keep the jewelry to a minimum," Feliks said over his shoulder as the other three reluctantly stood up with his encouragement.

"Really?" Tabby studied herself in the mirror, and then glanced back at where the rather confused S.H.I.E.L.D. officers attempted to herd the four out. "Dude, you gotta pay, remember?"

"I know, I know," Feliks said, scribbling out a check and handing it over to the equally baffled cashier. "Have a nice time, Tabby!"

"Thanks!" Tabby called back before turning around again to study her image in the mirror. "So, what jewelry do you think will work for this?" she asked as the owner returned with the shallow box.

"This, let's see," the owner said, setting the box down on a nearby table. "Do you have a way to pay for all of this?" he asked warily as he started helping her put some of the jewelry pieces on her.

"Yeah, don't worry," Tabby said, thinking of the 'borrowed' credit card in her pocket. The owner had taken a break from teaching in order to track down the Hulk in his homeland of Canada. He wouldn't notice the card's disappearance for a little while. "So what else have you got?"

The owner smiled before going back to showing her what he had found in the back of the store.

* * *

><p>There was something to be said about historical re-enactments.<p>

These guys just took it to a whole new level.

Lisa Walker was one of a dozen civilians surrounding a small restaurant that, until about an hour ago, had been quiet except for the gentle lull of conversation. Some woman had to leave when the cats arrived though, the stubborn animals following the Greek as he settled down for lunch. She'd been sitting with her mother and her aunt, half-listening to their discussion about different universities that they wanted Lisa to apply to next fall when the man and his feline entourage arrived. He'd been courteous enough to sit on the edge of the cloud of chairs so that the allergic patrons wouldn't be affected, although one woman had to leave because her dog was yipping too much at the dogs. The Greek then promptly fell asleep.

Then a woman had arrived, wielding a cast iron frying pan and waking the Greek up so she could demand as to where two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had wandered off. Lisa had seen the two agents duck behind the hot dog cart earlier, and decided to keep them safe for now, that frying pan looked particularly nasty. The woman then sat down as though to wait, and then the owner of the hot dog cart returned, shooing the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents out and catching the woman's interest.

Lisa never did find out if that one agent managed to escape without getting killed. One had gotten walloped on the head, but the other disappeared.

The Turk, wearing an ominous white mask, arrived right as Lisa and her aunt and mother were leaving. The _second_ he kicked one of the cats to get it out of his way, the Greek woke up and began lecturing him.

The two were circling each other now, the Greek holding two cats (one in an arm, the other on his shoulder), and was holding a closed café table umbrella out like a weapon. The Turk had a real sword, deadly against all materials except of the metal that the umbrella stand was made of.

"C'mon, call the stupid cats off, that gives you too much of an advantage!" someone yelled as Lisa moved to sit on top of the wall surrounding the plaza, to get a better view.

The Greek ignored him; his attention was solely focused on the Turk.

"Ten bucks says that S.H.I.E.L.D. shows up before either one does anything," Mrs. Walker muttered under breath to her sister, who shook her head.

"Are you kidding? My money is on the Turk," the aunt whispered back. "That or the police show up before there _is_ a winner."

"My money is on the Greek, remember when Squirrel Girl kicked Wolverine's butt the other week with her squirrels?" Lisa whispered excitedly as the cats continued sneaking closer to the Turk.

"Wolverine was unprepared," Mrs. Walker countered. Lisa's aunt frowned, but otherwise was silent; she'd made her stance on mutants a long time ago, and would only irritate her sister and niece if she said something more.

Then the Turk struck.

He easily slipped past the Greek's umbrella, and was about to drive his sword into the other man's neck but the cat on the Greek's shoulder leapt at the Turk and latched onto his head. Cheers and boos followed the duo as the Greek dropped the umbrella to tackle the Turk, sending the two to the ground. Lisa shouted with the others as the cats all converged on the struggling pair, but with a massive yowl, the Turk shoved a good portion of them off of himself before attempting to scramble to his feet.

"Forget the police and S.H.I.E.L.D., SPCA is going to have a field day with these two," Mrs. Walker said, shaking her head in dismay.

"Do you think they'd let me keep one of the cats?" Lisa asked as the Greek snagged the Turk's ankle, sending the latter back to the ground. "'They' as in one of them," she clarified, nodding to the struggling men.

"I'd worry more about what _I_ have to say about you keeping another pet, the house is enough of a menagerie without more cats," Mrs. Walker replied dryly, tucking her feet underneath herself as the Greek slammed into the wall the women were sitting on. "Come on, show this loser who is boss!" she snapped as the Greek pulled himself back up. "You were here first!"

With a growl, the Greek lunged forward, catching the Turk in the middle; both the sword and umbrella had been abandoned a while ago with the latter on the ground near the café tables and the former in the hands of a fully uniformed and armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

Wait.

Lisa swallowed nervously when she saw that it wasn't any S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director, Nick Fury, was something of an urban legend, the craziest one being that he was old enough to have served in World War Two; the second craziest one being that a Russian assassin had taken out that one eye. She'd seen pictures of the man, he was certainly a media favorite, but to see him in person was a whole other story. He was just standing there so unassuming that no one else seemed to have noticed him. He wasn't alone either: a woman with light brown hair wearing a U.S. federal uniform was standing next to him. She looked tired, as though hunting down swordfighters was something she did on a daily basis and had been up all night doing said hunting.

She watched nervously as he glanced at someone off to the side and then nodded once.

_Crack!_

It wasn't exactly a gunshot, but it was close enough. Before the people could panic however, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were already surrounding the two swordfighters, and there were hushed whispers as people slowly calmed down. The two fighters however were too stunned from the fired blank to realize that S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were handcuffing them until it was too late to really do anything about it.

"Can I still keep one of the cats?" Lisa asked her mother, who shook her head.

"I told you, we have enough pets as it is," Mrs. Walker said before gesturing to Lisa's aunt. "Come on Leah, I still have some shopping I want to do."

"Hopefully someone put that fight on Youtube, I really want to see it again," Lisa said before hopping off the wall and following her mother.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Some notes:**

**Tabitha 'Tabby' Smith: a character from Marvel's **_**X-Men Evolution.**_** Her codename is 'Boom Boom' from her ability to create small cherry energy bombs with her hands. So stealing Wolverine's credit card wasn't the worst she could do.**

**Also **_**X-Men Evolution**_**: deals with the regular X-Men as students in Xavier's school, and Wolverine is an instructor along with Xavier and Storm.**

**Youtube was created in 2005, so it would definitely be around now.**


	14. Collect

**XIV**

**Collect**

* * *

><p>"Sir-"<p>

"Unless Galactus is about to eat Earth again or that so-called Time Lord is back, do not disturb me," Fury said bluntly, not bothering to look up at the startled desk jockey. When there was no indication of the man moving, Fury looked up with a scowl. Nodding to the black phone in the man's hand, and asked, "Who is on the other end?"

"Er, the President, sir. He wants to know why you've kept New York quarantined for more than twenty-four hours," the man replied, his voice shaking slightly. Fury was ready to bet that the man had already heard plenty of horror stories about the countless quarrels between Fury and whoever happened to be in the Oval Office that term.

Fury was quiet for a few moments. "Tell him it's an occupational hazard for insisting that an international security agency be headquartered in New York City, and that I'm always willing to move said agency to Prague if he doesn't want us here anymore," he said, gesturing to the phone. As the man began to leave, Fury said, "Oh, and one more thing."

The man paused, confused. "Yes, sir?"

"If he complains that I've officially lost it, tell him that I've been running S.H.I.E.L.D. for longer than he's been alive. If he questions my loyalties, do remind him that S.H.I.E.L.D. is a subdivision of the United Nations, _not_ the United States," Fury added. He raised an eyebrow and said, "Think you can remember all that?"

The other man nodded before walking away, raising the phone back to his ear.

"Trouble?" Coulson asked, appearing at Fury's side with several files.

"The usual. So long as the kid keeps the phone out of Hill's hands, we should be fine for another forty-eight hours. I suspect that the president is going to try for a coup d'état though, they all do at least once during their tenure," Fury said, keeping his voice down as the woman in question walked by the two of them. "I miss being in the helicarrier though, it was easier to keep American politics and S.H.I.E.L.D. business separate."

"Well, then you'll be pleased to hear that I had lunch with Miss Potts today to open negotiations about helicarrier repair costs. Mr. Stark was inevitably unavailable, but she was able to speak with confidence as a representative of Stark Industries," Coulson said, placing a few files on Fury's workstation. "And if it does come down to a coup d'état, you know that you have me, Sitwell, Dugan, and Carter watching your back."

"I know, but I may need Carter back out there in deep cover again. I'm still waiting to hear from our European outposts about possible Hydra activity in southern Germany. I'd like to know if Hydra's about to throw one _hell_ of a nasty surprise at us," Fury replied, subconsciously examining the crowd of personnel before the two of them. They were on one of the higher floors, in the room that had the closest imitation to the helicarrier command center. This was where Fury always felt the safest while on the ground. He wasn't stupid and didn't put it past Hydra to slip one of its own into his command staff, especially when that had been the reason his predecessor had died.

"Well, if you do put Carter back into the field, she might appreciate a bit of a heads up first, and a guarantee that she won't be cut loose at the first sign of danger," Coulson replied mildly.

Fury rolled his eye. "Yeah, she said as much when she tried to knife me for that last time," he remarked dryly. Tapping the eyepatch, he added, "You'd think this would be a bit of a deterrent for future assassins."

"Maybe it will be once said assassins find out that the man who did that is now dead, and has been for thirty-one years now," Coulson said, shrugging with one shoulder.

Fury shook his head. "Give it fifty years, and then I'll relax. I've noticed lately that staying dead is surprisingly tricky, especially since scientists have gotten unusually creative lately," he said. "But if the assassin does come back, I'll hand Wolverine over to deal with him this time."

"In that case, his Soviet handlers may not get him back this time," Coulson said before turning away and frowning slightly. "Incoming," he muttered before opening a folder to study the documents within.

Fury looked up in time to see a harried looking Jess Norwood approaching the two of them. "Talk some more later," he muttered in a low voice as Coulson gathered his things. He excused himself as Jess arrived. Fury meanwhile smiled and asked, "Agent Norwood, what can I do for you?"

"I have an updated list for you," she said, handing the list over. She hesitated, and then asked, "Any update on Alfred?"

"No, we lost track of him after he left the same airport he'd arrived in yesterday morning," Fury replied apologetically. "I assure you that we're still looking. It's tricky to find a person who doesn't want to be found, although if that's the case with Jones, then I don't know why he wishes to remain hidden. Have you tried calling him?"

"Yes, but his phone is off," she replied. He could see the exhaustion creeping into her eyes. "The longer he remains quiet, the more worried I get," Jess admitted, glancing at her cell phone as though expecting it to ring any moment. "The last time he was this quiet for this long was back in '95, when-"

"I arrested him, the Dane, and the Prussian for trespassing on S.H.I.E.L.D. property in the dead of night," Fury finished for her. "Yes, I remember that, I was there. His handler at the time thought he'd gone on an impromptu trip to England and got worried after the third day of silence. I assure you, Agent Norwood, that he won't be gone for _that_ long. Besides, he's still on U.S. soil, there's still a conference to attend, correct? Who would miss out on the chance to boss other people around?"

Jess still seemed doubtful, and Fury carefully kept his face blank. He still needed her cooperation in bringing the other personifications in, and Alfred's reappearance could upset the delicate balance between them.

"Are you sure?" she finally asked.

"Yes. Perhaps this could definitely be a case of 'no news is good news', and it's only been twenty-four or so hours since his disappearance. We can start getting concerned when it's been three days," Fury replied, making a mental note to himself to contact Willis about coaxing Jones back up north _soon_. "Now, you mentioned that you had an update for me?"

"Yes." Jess tucked some folders under an arm before pulling out the printed roster of World Conference participants. "The Austrian and Hungarian diplomats were found, but are staying at the hotel where Mr. Edelstein spent the night. Wang Yao, the Chinese diplomat had been rounding up his own companions before Agent Woo found them. Mr. Lukasiewicz and the Baltic trio were found shopping on Fifth Avenue-"

" 'Baltic Trio'? That's what they're calling themselves?" Fury mused as he studied the sheet. "Is that it?"

"And you're well aware about Mr. Karpusi and Mr. Adnan, given that we had to break them up earlier today," Jess said, setting the closed folder on the nearest surface.

"Last time I saw decent swordfight was during World War Two between a pair of squabbling aristocrats. Baron Strucker and Baron Zemo to be exact, both are of old German blood. Luckily, they can never agree who is in charge of Hydra and are too busy trying to kill each other instead of coming after S.H.I.E.L.D.," Fury said, scanning through the list. "Good swordsmanship with the two personifications though, especially given that they were using improvised weaponry." Frowning, he asked, "Do we still have anyone missing?"

"I can run the numbers through again, but I believe we found everyone," Jess replied, nodding to the list.

"That's good to hear… and what of the French diplomat? I need him to restore some order around here," Fury said, glancing at the printed email that Teresa had set on his desk earlier that morning.

Jess paused and looked up at him. "You need Francis Bonnefoy here so you can restore order? In what way?" she asked, the slight disbelief evident in her tone.

"Carriedo and Beilschmidt cornered Agent Branson. He won't leave his room, and they won't leave their posts right outside of it. Previous experience tells me that they won't go away until they've got the third member of their little posse. It'll be easier to kick all three out then and they can all go cause trouble somewhere else," Fury explained. "I still don't know why they're still bothering Branson when I've already confiscated the axe last night and sent it along to a history museum in Madrid," he added as Jess sighed.

"Well, there's been a slight problem with Monsieur Bonnefoy," she said finally. "I didn't know how much authority I had, so I didn't tell Sergeant Rushman off when he said he refused to continue looking for Monsieur Bonnefoy. His team wasn't willing to continue without him."

Fury suppressed the urge to groan aloud. He'd known that this sort of thing would happen, but had hoped that it would have occurred much farther down the road. "If that happens, send the team leader my way so that I can find out what happened," he said, and she nodded. "In the meantime, we'll have to try another tactic to luring Bonnefoy in."

"Mr. Kirkland knows him best, I could get him if you wanted," Jess offered. "He might know something, seeing as they've been neighbors for several hundred years already."

"Poor idiot. I'd have killed my neighbor long before know if I knew him for as long as that, not out of maliciousness. More of that I can't fathom knowing someone that long," Fury replied. He tapped the workstation and said, "Trust me when I say that I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."

Jess nodded before leaving.

Fury meanwhile leaned against the workstation, releasing a slow breath. He knew what kind of person Jess was, especially since he'd had a hand in her hiring process. He was more concerned about her reaction to his lying about knowing Alfred's current location the entire time. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents learned early on that there were secrets, and that Fury used them as pawns. For the most part, they learned to live with that. Federal agents however, namely the F.B.I. and C.I.A., got pissed off as soon as they figured out what it was that he was doing. Fury had endured more than one shouting match at the White House, and had learned that the fastest way to shut the President up, no matter who was in the office, was to remind him that he had the means of moving S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters anywhere else in the world. As director, Fury saw things that others couldn't because of security clearances, and it just helped whenever agents did as he said and didn't question it.

"So, what's next on the agenda after pissing the President off?" Quartermain asked, drifting over. "Just talked to Coulson. If there's a coup d'état, I want in on the resistance."

"Of course you do. Next on the agenda is figuring out why you're here and not after that Frenchman," Fury countered, watching Quartermain warily as the latter picked up Bonnefoy's file.

"Carter wants to clean up the AIM mess from yesterday. I told her it would be more cathartic to work any anger with certain iron Avengers out on the bags. I don't know how those two managed to grow up without murdering each other," Quartermain said, studying the first page. "Stark showed up at her apartment at three in the morning, drunk. Needed a place to stay for the night after Pepper locked him out on accident and he lost his own house key."

"They're the ones with the sibling relationship, right?"

"Yep. As for Bonnefoy, well, I heard that Sandler and Sitwell were on the wrong end of the Hungarian's frying pan, and that Branson is barricaded in his room. Then I realized that I got pretty lucky with the Zwingli siblings, and decided not to test my luck any more than necessary. Besides, he's not really my type," Quartermain said, tapping the file before setting it back down. "I like someone who can hold her own in a fight."

Ignoring the last remark, Fury said, "Are you sure you don't want to go after Bonnefoy? I'm inclined to give you free rein in choosing your team and methods. Only one stipulation though."

"Mm, is that so?" Quartermain glanced at the dossier before he shook his head. "Might cost you a little more than that."

"Well, I can't exactly force the Russians to rescind that permanent expulsion order, now can I? And it's the current government, not the Soviets who issued it, so you can't use that as an excuse," Fury said, reaching for the updated report from Jess to examine it himself.

"That's too bad, I'm starting to get stir-crazy here," Quartermain replied, a smile twitching on the corner of his mouth.

"Do you know how hard it was to convince the Russians that your _unauthorized _presence in Tunguska was an accident?" Fury hissed, but then straightened, calming down. "Free control, one stipulation, and all-expenses paid trip or we have no deal," he said finally, not acknowledging Quartermain.

"It would help if this dossier had more than five lines that _weren't_ blacked out," Quartermain said in a sullen tone.

"Free control and flexibility, one stipulation, all-expenses paid trip, and a future blind eye to _one_ stupid act, if you're so inclined," Fury said, not looking at the agent.

He waited patiently for Quartermain to see exactly what it was he was offering, and then smirked when Quartermain sighed. "And this, Nick, is exactly why you and I get along so well. Fine, I'll do it," the agent said. "Your stipulation?"

"You work with the English diplomat, Arthur Kirkland," Fury said. "Agent Norwood has just gone to get him."

"Agent who?"

"Jessica Norwood. Federal official, she's been providing valuable assistance with the crisis," Fury said, calling up Jess's profile on the tablet and passing it over to Quartermain.

He frowned as he read it over. "Why does she sound so familiar?"

"Remember that point two years ago when I asked you to discreetly tail that C.I.A. agent, Robert Hemsworth, for a couple of weeks? I asked the same of Sitwell and Morse at the same time, only with two different individuals. Anyway, I asked Morse to tail Norwood, and I suspect you three read each other's reports before submitting them," Fury said as he went back to scanning the list of diplomats to find any other missing ones.

"Oh yeah, I remember that, except her name had been blacked out at the time. What were the tails for anyway?" Quartermain asked.

"Job tests. Second-to-last hurdle in the hiring process for some job in the Department of Defense." Fury paused, and then said, "Before you do anything, please keep in mind what I said about inter-agency dating."

Quartermain groaned as he set the tablet down. "For the last time, _that wasn't me_. Eighty-four is just too damn good at framing other people, I just told you that my type is those who can hold their ground, not go running at the first sight of danger," he said, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Regardless of who was involved, keep it in mind. If you think French Intelligence was bad, wait until you tangle with the Department of Defense," Fury said, smirking at Quartermain's irritation. "Now play nice with Kirkland, I don't want an international incident just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut," he said, noting Jess and Kirkland approaching the two of them.

"I _always_ play nice with others," Quartermain grumbled as he glanced around the command center for the newcomers.

"I believe the Russians would whole-heartedly disagree with that assessment, but whatever makes you feel better," Fury said before nodding in greeting as the two drew closer. "Kirkland, any luck in locating Jones?" he asked, leaning back on the workstation table.

"Unfortunately, I fear that I am making as much progress as you are," Kirkland said, eyes narrowing at Quartermain. "Who is he and why is he here?"

Before Fury could stop him, Quartermain bowed his head and said, "Agent Clay Quartermain at your service. I'm the 'crazy American' who is going after Monsieur Bonnefoy." He was grinning when he straightened up again.

Kirkland scowled. "You were not supposed to hear that particular conversation," he said.

"Kind of hard _not_ to, given how loud you were yelling into the phone. I'm shocked if Bonnefoy doesn't have hearing trouble after that," Quartermain replied, shrugging with one shoulder. "Anyway, advice on catching Bonnefoy?"

"Right. Unfortunately, I cannot locate his partner, Marlowe, so we may have to attempt another strategy. The only major downside to the plan is that those involved may view it as degrading," Kirkland said, glancing between the three Americans.

"Hang on, I think I see where this is going," Quartermain said, glancing at the dossier. "You're thinking of setting a honey trap, aren't you?"

"Yes, but we can revise it if I find Bonnefoy's partner before we find the man himself. One or two women should do the trick," Kirkland said, glancing briefly at his shoulder before shaking his head. "No, don't worry, I took that into account," he said before turning back to Fury. "The women of course would have to be volunteers…"

"Well, I can tell you that you already have one volunteer," Fury said, recalling what Coulson had said to him yesterday evening. "A French immigrant named Marie Ange-Colbert, she's worked with us before and can usually predict what it is that we will ask of her. As for your second woman, I know whom to pull from the ranks here."

"Oh? And who would that be?" Kirkland asked. "For some odd reason, I find it highly improbable that one of your female agents would be willing to charm a man of Bonnefoy's position."

"Except the Soviets trained Black Widow to do exactly that," Fury countered, leaning back on an arm. "Seduce the target and then kill him. She knows that, and I know that. Granted, she wouldn't be killing him here, but the idea remains. I'll still ask her though. I'd send Agent Fourteen along as well, but she's out of the country at the moment."

"And here I was under the impression we wanted Bonnefoy alive, Val would kill him the _second_ hands started wandering," Quartermain added.

'Hopefully it won't get that far," Kirkland replied ominously before glancing at Jess. "How many diplomats are still missing? Ludwig and I would like to start the conference as _soon_ as possible."

"We're still waiting on the retrieval teams for the representatives from Ukraine, Cuba and Portugal, along with these few," Jess said, handing the list over to Kirkland, who studied it. "Half of those are close to completion though, and of course, our venerable host is still missing."

"That's the American representative, right?" Quartermain asked, frowning. When Kirkland nodded in confirmation, he said, "What's the guy's name again?"

"He's the one that plays video games with Willis, Alfred F. Jones," Fury replied, quietly confident that Quartermain hadn't been paying enough attention to that situation to know right off the bat where Jones was.

"The guy with the hair curl? Yeah, I've seen him, about five minutes ago," Quartermain said, smirking before he collected the files he needed.

"What?" Jess demanded, and Fury turned to glare at the other man. "Where is he?" she added, crossing her arms.

Quartermain looked every part of the cat that ate the canary without regrets. "Surveillance tapes of a ruckus at the National Air and Space Museum. The reason that Commander Brand never sent it straight to you, sir," he said, nodding to Fury, "was because there were already two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on the scene. She thought that you already knew about the blue telephone box and its owner being in D.C., and was taking care of it." Grinning, he added, "Sir."

"Wait… why are there S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in D.C. to begin with?" Jess asked, turning back to Fury. Fury was silent as he watched her think back to their first meeting, and then the conversation leading up to Alfred's disappearance. "Oh no, he did _not_…"

"Did you honestly think I was going to let Jones of all people waltz off unsupervised?" Fury asked, noting with slight interest that the several staff members that had been eavesdropping were now swearing and exchanging cash underneath desks. "Especially when S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tracking equipment _has_ to be the best in the world, given what we do on a daily basis?"

Jess stared at him. "Well, no, but letting me know that sooner would have been _greatly_ appreciated," she said, eyes narrowing. "Especially when you saw how _stressed_ I have been over his safety-"

"I needed your cooperation. I worked with what I had," Fury calmly interrupted. Smirking, he added, "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D, Agent Norwood, where we don't always play fair." Turning before she could protest further, he glanced at Quartermain and said, "Would it have killed you to keep your trap shut for another day?"

Quartermain shrugged, checking his watch. "Well, I figured I needed spending money for that trip, sir, and that particular pool was reaching a decent amount. So, yeah, it would have killed me to keep my trap shut for another day," he said, grinning cheekily.

Fury groaned and walked away, Jess close behind him.

Quartermain watched as the two walked away before turning back to Kirkland. "Shall we get down to business, sir? I suspect they're going to be busy yelling for a little while, especially once she figures out that Fury's been blocking her phone signal for a better part of the last twenty four hours."

"_You did what?"_

"Case and point. Let's go before the fight comes back," he said, and Kirkland nodded in agreement. "We won't be the focus of her anger for a while, so let's keep it that way."


	15. Recovery

**XV**

**Recovery**

* * *

><p>"I'm going to have a freaking bruise for <em>days<em>."

"At least you can write it off as an accident, it's on your upper arm. The same goes for the bump on your head. I've got a black eye the size of _Texas_."

Keeping the ice pack pressed to his jaw, Alfred turned around in his seat and asked, "Really? Can I see?" 56, who had a slab of thawing meat on her face, flipped him off and scowled.

Steve merely pulled his friend back as the commercial break ended and _Star Wars: A New Hope_ came back on. The five of them, Alfred, Steve, Tony, Willis, and 56, were at Alfred's ancestral home in Virginia, recovering from the debacle at the National Air and Space Museum. All were banned from ever returning to the museum, with the exception of Tony since he had a deal with the museum that he could park his spaceship there and still access it in exchange for it being a tourist attraction. After the five of them stumbled home, Steve did a bit of channel surfing while Alfred passed out various foodstuffs to use as impromptu ice packs; his real ice packs were still sitting out on the counter, warm and useless, when they returned. Steve meanwhile had stumbled upon a channel that had two cruiser-like ships shooting lasers at each other. Before Steve could even change the channel, Alfred had come running in and vaulted over the couch and immediately settled down.

To his surprise, Steve found the movie to be quite entertaining.

"You know I don't get?" Alfred said suddenly, forehead creasing slightly.

"The American economy? It's okay, I don't get it either. I won't tell if you won't tell," Willis said without looking up from his newspaper.

"Don't quit your day job, Willis. Stand-up comedy might not pan out well for you," Alfred said without looking away from the TV. "As I was saying, what I don't get is if that was the Doctor at the museum, the who the hell did I meet in London last year?"

"Who did you think you met?" Steve asked.

"Some guy who called himself the 'Doctor'. Wore a leather jacket, had a northern accent, and was with a lovely young lady named Rose Tyler. I was snooping around looking for the English version of Area 51 when I ran into them. Never found it though, Arthur and I had to deal with a bunch of killer mannequins the next night. But that Doctor certainly didn't act like the one in the museum. Nor did he have two girls and a guy," Alfred said, wincing as the characters on the screen fell into the garbage disposal. Glancing back at Steve, he said, "Do you want another bag of peas for that? I think there's another one in the freezer."

"All right," Steve said, handing the now-thawed bag of peas over to Alfred right as the movie went back to commercial break.

Alfred took off, sliding in the kitchen for a few moments before making it to the refrigerator. "Hey Willis! Do you want another ice pack?" he called from the kitchen.

"So long as I get another ice pack with it!" Willis yelled back. Shaking his head, he said, "I swear that kid gets crazier every time we meet, and that's really saying something since I see him frequently." Willis sighed, and then said, "All kidding aside, there's something off about him."

Steve felt his gut twist uncomfortably. He was pretty sure he hadn't said anything remotely close to giving away the secret—perhaps he'd been too familiar with Alfred for supposedly having not met him before? "What seems off?" he finally asked.

Willis's eye twitched. "I know that Jones's appearance appears all right to you, but I've worked at S.H.I.E.L.D. for thirty years, and he hasn't changed a bit in those thirty years." Leaning forward, he whispered, "If _I've _noticed, who else do you think has as well?"

"Fury is wayyy older than Jones, yet _he's _still here," 56 said from her armchair. Steve could tell that her eye was still swelling shut despite the meat.

"He's got an excuse. I get this weird feeling about Jones, it happens _all_ the time," Willis muttered as the man in question came bounding back in, the movie returning from commercial break at that moment. He glanced at Alfred and asked, "My ice pack?"

"Right here." Handing over the pack and washcloth, Alfred said, "You didn't permanently damage your knee, did you?"

"No, I just need to rest it, it's not the first time I've injured this one. It just means I won't be able to keep up with you like I've been doing for the last couple days," Willis replied, glancing at Steve.

"We can do whatever is most comfortable for you, I don't have a solid plan anyway," Steve assured him before turning back to the television screen, where the first lightsaber battle of the movie had just started. "I'm guessing you have seen this before?"

The sergeant nodded. "Just don't ask me how many times, I've lost track. My personal favorite is _Return of the Jedi_, though a lot of idiots don't think that one is canon."

"I don't think it's canon," 56 said without looking up from her phone. "_Empire Strikes Back_ is my favorite, but Sharon claims she likes _The Phantom Menace_ just to piss me off. She actually likes _A New Hope_ though," she added.

" 'Sharon'? Who's she?" Steve asked, frowning.

"Sharon Carter, one of Fury's specialists. Her great aunt was Peggy Carter, who served in World War Two. Elder Carter still lives in London, from what I hear," Willis replied, shrugging.

"Oh?" Steve tried to sound disinterested, but if Alfred's smirk was anything to go by, it hadn't worked. "Do you know if Agent Peggy Carter is doing all right?" he asked quietly, glancing at Alfred.

"Yeah, Arthur still sees her for Sunday tea unless he isn't in London for some reason, well, he sees her and Lady Holmes during those teas. Anyway, Peggy is doing fine, she became the interim director of MI6 for almost twenty years after the war ended before they found a permanent director. She still keeps in touch with whoever happens to be in charge, who at the moment is this crazy woman who scares the crap out of me. Met her once when she was meeting some of my guys, I haven't been that afraid of a human in years," Alfred whispered back, never looking away from the screen. "I really don't know where Arthur finds half the people he gets to run his government, he always manages to find the one or two individuals who scare me and puts them in places where I _have_ to talk to them."

Steve frowned. "I thought it was a democratic process."

"This is Arthur Kirkland we're talking about. This is the same guy who humiliated and defeated Antonio Carriedo in the biggest naval battle of both their histories and also owned almost the entire world at one point. I think sneaking a few people into his government is cakewalk for him."

"That's not the Kirkland I remember training me," Steve said, grinning slightly at a memory. "He cursed you out every other day."

"I'm surprised he didn't curse me out every other _minute_, he was still sore over the fact I had to save his ass in the First World War, and was doing it yet again," Alfred said, a grin twitching on his face.

"Actually, it was Francis Bonnefoy he cursed out every other minute," Steve said, recalling the barely-feigned civility between the two of them. "Bonnefoy's assistance in sneaking Bucky and me out of camp one time was something of a breaking point."

"Now the bare civility thing _isn't_ a surprise," Alfred said right as the movie once again went back to commercial break. "So! Anyone want anything to eat or drink?"

"I'm fine, you?" Steve said, glancing at Willis.

"Ice pack is all I need. Amy?" Willis said, glancing at 56, who was glowering at her phone. "Bad news back home?"

"Quartermain, that _bastard_, cheated! He walked away with two pools; he researched the two pools with the federal worker and then tailored one answer while timing the other," she growled, slamming a fist down on the armchair armrest in frustration. "Five thousand, one hundred and ninety-four dollars, _gone_ just like that!"

"That was between two pools?" Alfred asked, looking at her incredulously.

"Well, the one with the MI6 versus S.H.I.E.L.D. is still ongoing. God, I'm going to _kill_ Quartermain once we get back," she grumbled as Alfred frowned.

"What federal worker is this? I might know him," he said as the house phone rang. "Whoops, that would be me. Hang onto that thought for a sec," he added, clambering to his feet. Reaching over, he picked up the phone on the third ring and said, "Hello? Jones here-"

Steve watched and then frowned when Alfred suddenly paled and wordlessly put the phone back into the cradle. "Who was it?" he asked as Alfred joined him back on the couch.

"The IRS?" Willis quipped from behind his newspaper.

"Just as bad. It was Jess, the one I was telling you about earlier. She's not very happy with me at the moment, so if the house phone rings again, don't pick it up," he said just as his cell phone began buzzing. "I got it! Hang on another sec, sorry!" he yelled, lunging for the phone sitting on the glass coffee table. "Hell- oh _hell_…_Jess_, how are you doing today?" he asked, grimacing at the response as he got up and left the room for privacy.

"What exactly is going on in New York?" Steve asked, Willis lowering the newspaper.

"Nothing so serious that they had to call the Avengers in," Willis replied, shrugging. "But Fury did grant you leave time, so I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you. When you get a call, _then_ you can start worrying."

"I don't know, Fury tends to not ask for help until he's in way over his head and the mood happens to strike him at the same time," Steve said, recalling a few instances in World War Two when Fury had deliberately disobeyed Command more than once and was perhaps one of the rare few that had defied General Phillips more than once; Alfred made it into the record books for a valiant second attempt that died promptly when Phillips returned to headquarters a day earlier than planned.

"As much as I trust Fury to lead us, and he's done an excellent job ever since Hydra nabbed Stoner, I personally don't agree with some of Fury's judgment calls. Call me what you will, but I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. under Stoner's leadership. Ten years later, Fury entered the scene as director, his little posse in tow. Less than six months after that, Jones came toddling along into the picture. That was sixteen years ago. I keep telling myself that Jones figured out a way to live for a long time like Fury pulled off, but I'm not sure I even believe that," Willis said grimly.

"Who was Stoner?" Steve asked.

"Rick Stoner was the first director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury's predecessor. Died when Hydra slipped an assassin into his personal entourage. There are still people today in the command staff, Commander Hill included, who believe it was Fury who offed Stoner though, and used Hydra as a scapegoat. It wasn't a big secret that the two of them _hated_ each other," Willis added ominously as Alfred reappeared into the room, looking hopeful.

"Steve, can you do me a _huge_ favor?" he asked, still holding the cell phone.

"Depends on what the favor is," Steve replied, glancing at his friend.

"Tell Jess that I was with you the entire time, she thinks I disappeared just to get out of work," Alfred said, holding the phone out.

Steve stared at him for a moment before taking the phone. "And she doesn't believe you when you told her you were with me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We-ell, it's more that she doesn't believe _Fury_ when he said you were with me. If you talk to her now, she most likely won't kill me later," Alfred said, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. He paused, and then added, "Please?"

"All right." Steve raised the phone to his ear while Alfred settled back down in the empty armchair. "Hello?" Steve tried.

"_Hello? Who is this? Where is Alfred?"_ a crisp female voice replied.

Steve raised an eyebrow at the undertone of stress in her voice. "This is Captain Steve Rogers, I'm a friend of Alfred's," he said, pausing when he realized how much Alfred was fidgeting in the chair. "He's worried that you're going to kill him," he added, silently challenging Alfred's horrified expression.

"Dude, don't _tell_ her that!" Alfred yelped before lunging for the phone. Steve easily dodged him by throwing the bag of semi-frozen peas at him before standing up.

"_At the rate things are going here, I'd say that's a very legitimate concern. But I have heard a great deal about you from Alfred, I look forward to meeting you in person." _She was quiet for a moment, and then added almost as an afterthought; "_Do you think you'd be able to help me better understand what happened at the National Air and Space Museum? Fury is too busy cursing out a doctor to be of much help right now."_

"Ah, either Sergeant Willis or Alfred may be better able to help you, I'm still not completely sure of who was in that fight or who started it," Steve admitted, shaking his head while grinning at Alfred's boneless sprawl of despair across the couch.

"_Give the phone back to Alfred, I don't trust anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. at the moment."_

"Very well, ma'am." Steve handed the phone back to Alfred and then said, "Try not to upset her further, she just wanted to know what happened at the National Air and Space Museum."

"Speaking of which, has anyone seen Tony? I better go and—_ack!_" Alfred said, ignoring the phone and starting to leave until Steve grabbed his collar, effectively stopping the other man.

"_I'll_ go look for Tony, you talk to Jess," Steve said, passing the phone back over to Alfred, who pouted, but reluctantly took the phone back.

"I'll go with you, I'll go stir-crazy otherwise," Willis said, easing himself up out of his seat slowly. "Nothing like good exercise to keep my knee from stiffening."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked, but raised his hands in mock surrender at Willis's scowl. "All right then."

"Check the basement, Tony keeps his workshop down there," Alfred said, lowering the phone long enough to offer the suggestion before going back to his phone conversation with Jess.

Steve nodded, and walked to the other side of the expansive (and old) living room, where Alfred had indicated the door to the basement during the impromptu tour of his house. Willis kept close behind, and Steve positioned himself so that if the sergeant fell, he could catch Steve's shoulder on the way down for support. Once they got to the basement door, Willis asked, "Are we just making sure that Tony didn't go after the crazy folks from the museum even though he promised he wouldn't?"

"Yeah, and Alfred talks to Ms. Norwood," Steve said, jiggling the door handle in order to shake it open. "I believe that after this, I'd like to go back to New York and see if Fury requires any more assistance."

"From what I heard, they're almost done anyway. Quartermain is in charge of the wrap-up," Willis said as he pushed the door open. "After you, Captain."

"He's the one whom 56 said cheated, correct?" Steve asked as they walked down the set of wooden stairs.

"Yes, and I suspect he cheated for more than the monetary reward. It's all about making extremely good impressions to those who matter, after all," Willis said knowingly.

Steve nodded, catching onto the unsaid implication. "How long until the others catch on? Those involved with the bets?"

"Not for a while is my guess. Quartermain knows how to be subtle, unlike certain, bowler-hat individuals that we will not name here," Willis replied grimly.

Tony's workshop turned out to be something straight out of a sci-fi movie that crossed with Stark's workshops. Junk and projects through various stages of completion was scattered on both the floor and the numerous metal tables. Steve could see a white chalk line dividing the entire basement in half, and all of Tony's things were kept to one side while the other side held things such as the laundry machines, the furnace, and other various items that were clearly Alfred's. Each table on Tony's side had a little clear space, as though to indicate where Tony had completed projects and moved on. The alien itself was perched at one of the farther tables, hunched over and tinkering with a small device that had digital numbers on both sides.

Tony looked up when the two reached the bottom of the stairs and started angrily babbling at the two of them, waving the wrench around for emphasis.

"Yeah, I believe you, don't worry," Willis said before turning to Steve. "He's still upset about the whole incident so he's working on a revenge plan that won't involve us."

"Wait, you can understand him?" Steve asked.

"Jones and I hung out a lot for several months. Aliens on Earth aren't as shocking of a concept as you'd think, with what we at S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.W.O.R.D. see every day. Anyway, I had to learn what Tony was saying before he could trick me into granting permission to use me and my food as test subjects for his latest bio-weapon," Willis said, rolling his eyes. "Fury confiscated _that_ one before Tony could use it, it's locked away until we can find a way to safely dismantle it." Walking over to where Tony was seated, Steve close behind, Willis asked, "What exactly are you working on?" he asked, nodding to the half-gutted device on the worktable.

Steve listened closely to the babble this time, but Willis was nodding along to what Tony was saying. Finally, he straightened again. "He's working on his time-traveling device, said he lost it last in 1950 and only got it back six years ago. He wants to stick it to the Doctor one last time. I hate to encourage such bad behavior, but I suspect that even Fury would give his blessings with this venture," he said, suppressing a sigh. To Tony, he said, "Just try not to muck things up so bad that Hitler wins World War Two, all right?"

"The Doctor is the same one we fought back at the museum?" Steve guessed.

"Yeah, but Fury doesn't like him. Something to do with too much alcohol in the sixties, he won't elaborate beyond that."

"So Tony can change the past?" Steve asked, a thought occurring to him.

Tony said something eagerly, and Willis rolled his eyes. "Theoretically, yes you can. It's just that changing even one little detail could screw the entire timeline over. I like being alive, as does Fury, so he even won't tell Tony to change anything. I'm sorry Captain, but bringing Bucky back could cost us the war itself. We won't know for sure, but Fury won't be willing to test our luck."

Steve nodded, but otherwise did not say anything. He glanced at the device again, trying not to think of those he lost to the war and eventually time. For everyone else, the war had been sixty or so years ago, but for Steve, it felt like only a month. Alfred, Steve didn't know he did it, but Alfred somehow had managed to find a way to keep going after _each major event_ in American history.

Steve should be able to manage just as fine.

"Guys?"

Steve and Willis turned to find Alfred waiting at the top of the steps. "So Fury's just summoned me back to New York, you're all free to stay here with Tony if you like, or do whatever it is that you want," he said.

Tony made a sound of irritation before going back to work. Steve glanced at Willis before turning back to Alfred. "We were actually talking of going back to New York to see what was going on and if Fury needed any more assistance."

Alfred's face lit up. "_Awesome!_ Let me go and see if the Vice President would be nice enough to let us borrow his plane," he said before turning around to head back into the house.

"What, is _Air Force One_ not good enough for you or something?" Willis asked dryly as he and Steve began to follow Alfred up the steps.

"Actually, I haven't been on _Air Force One_ ever since Nixon banned me just because he thought I was fraternizing first with the Russians, then the Democrats. Remember Watergate? That started primarily because he was tailing _me_, but then bigger fish distracted him," Alfred said, leaning against the doorframe. "I mean, how was _I _supposed to know that the Dems would be there too? I would have picked a different hotel if I had known that, I try to stay out of politics when elections roll around. Anyway, I haven't been successful at convincing Nixon's successors in lifting the stupid ban since then."

"What were you doing at Watergate to begin with?" Willis asked as he and Steve joined Alfred at the top of the stairs.

Alfred bristled. "_That_ stays between Arthur and me," he said stiffly before stalking off.

Willis didn't let it go while Steve did. Steve had other, more pressing things to worry about at the moment.


	16. Attack

**XVI**

**Attack**

* * *

><p>It was amazing what a little makeup and hair dye could do to transform a person.<p>

Natasha leaned closer to the mirror as she carefully applied the lipstick, noting that Marie Ange-Colbert was doing something similar but with lighter shades of color. Natasha had dyed her hair blond with darker streaks, passing herself off as an American dancer since she knew her Russian origins _could_ give away the fact that she'd been used as bait before in another setting, another time. The precautions didn't hurt, given that one of her victims was still alive against all odds, making it a mystery as to which she might encounter next.

"What is it like to see the future?" she asked, attempting to make conversation with the woman she was supposed to be working with. Idle chatter wasn't her style, but it was better than stewing over the past, especially one that wouldn't stay dead.

"It's less of seeing the actual future," Marie calmly explained as she brushed her hair in quick, brusque strokes, "And more of getting premonitions. Feelings. Give me a deck of Tarot cards, and I can channel those premonitions into something more definitive. Give me nothing, or catch me off guard, and I can only give you nonsense. I write things down occasionally, just in case they become important now. I don't know why, but I just _know_ that it could be critical later."

"Does it become distracting?" Natasha asked as she carefully clasped the diamond studs in.

"In a way. He will not be expecting sex, Natasha, so you have nothing to worry about. His partner has been missing for too long, the director has asked us to attract his attention, nothing else," Marie said, once again startling Natasha with her eerie ability to predict what Natasha was thinking about. She laughed, and then said, "Jealousy is an unattractive trait, and I daresay that Monsieur Bonnefoy will not wish to be a target of your old lover again, so sex would not be a wise option even if _he_ was interested."

Natasha paused. She wasn't a superstitious individual, didn't have the time or patience for it. But she did know that Marie's visions did not fail to pass, and it was the reason that her powers were more valuable to entities outside the mutant communities. "He's dead, isn't he?" she carefully hedged, not wanting to get her hopes up.

Marie shrugged. "It's simply a word of caution, my friend," she said quietly. "I also suggesting alerting Hawkeye; the Red Room believes he killed you that day in Budapest, and revenge will be swift. As of right now, Soviet remnants are not interested in returning to abandoned projects… but Hydra will provide the catalyst."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Intuition?" she asked quietly, unsure of how seriously she should treat the warning.

"Underground chatter from my last visit to Strasbourg. The city's grown, in the Underground aspect anyway, into this central hub of information and transport. There was a group of former Soviet scientists talking to an old contact about Hydra chased them out of Germany recently," she replied, keeping her voice down.

"And if Hydra is capable of doing something other than causing widespread damage while trying to kill each other, then it means that either Zemo or Strucker killed the other or they've found a new, stronger leader to rally around," Natasha said slowly as the realization dawned on her.

"And I understand the director is busy at the moment, but it is imperative that he hears about it _soon_, the personifications he's working with are a risk," Marie added in a hushed tone.

Natasha stared at her, pausing in adjusting her dress strap. "Personifications?" she repeated, confused. "Personifications of _what_?" she asked.

Marie was quiet for a moment. "You know what? I honestly don't know, I just know it's 'personifications' that are in danger," she said finally, shrugging when she made eye contact with Natasha in the mirror.

"Did you hear someone mention 'personifications'? In what context?" Natasha asked curiously.

"No. _That_ was intuition," Marie said, fixing her own earrings. "Now I reserved this room for several nights, so you can leave your things in here if you want," she said, zipping up her makeup case.

"Thank you, but no. Everything I brought will fit in the purse," Natasha said curtly, glancing over her appearance once more before glancing at Marie. "Does your intuition have any last minute advice?" she asked.

Marie smiled. "Yes. Take it easy with the seduction, he may be missing his intimate moments, but he also misses his partner. The same one that theoretically is at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters right now," she replied before stepping out of the small bathroom.

"Wait, _what?_ If the partner's already there, then why the hell are we _here_?" Natasha demanded, turning around to follow Marie as she snapped her case closed. "Why didn't we just send _him_ instead of coming all the way out and having a small team escort the partner there and back? I could be finding the brat Jones…"

"I said 'theoretically' dear, no one's been able to find the poor thing," Marie said, tweaking her leotard and skirts in the mirror. She paused, and then asked, "How much French do you know?"

"Fluent. An old lover taught me while we were living in Paris, learned on the fly ever since then," Natasha said curtly; while it was helpful to know the future, the past was something that Natasha would rather no one knew about, it was easier to keep the blood and nightmares wrapped up that way.

Marie seemed to sense this. She nodded and gestured for Natasha to follow her, slipping on a pair of heels on the way out. Natasha, still grumbling to herself about the ridiculousness of the whole thing, followed her out, silently grateful for choosing to wear flats instead of heels for this mission.

Their hotel room was only a few doors down from Bonnefoy's, and it had been tricky to get it in the first place. They had first had to locate him, sitting in the dining salon eating breakfast. Then they waited until he'd gone back up before registering with the receptionist; one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s techs had been on standby, waiting for the right moment to gimmick the system so that the girls would get the room on the same hall as Bonnefoy. For reasons she wouldn't explain, Mare had said she would be staying there for a few nights, whereas Natasha was planning to head back to her little apartment after this. The two waited for Bonnefoy to come back down for lunch, and _then_ went up to their own room. It was late afternoon already, but Natasha was already looking forward to going back to her apartment and curling up underneath the blankets with a microwaveable dinner and bad TV. Something nice since she rarely could indulge in that in her otherwise hectic schedule and it helped her _forget_.

She stayed close to Marie, taking the other's lead and spoke in French about the better ways of handling a 'ménage a trois' for the 'next time'. In reality, Natasha had _never_ done that before, nor did she ever plan to; it was tricky assassinating one person in bed as it was, never mind with a witness present. Murdering two people instead of one was harder because she couldn't kill both at once, which meant that a witness had a few extra minutes to escape.

_That _would get messy extremely fast.

Natasha really didn't like it when her missions got messy.

They were in front of Bonnefoy's door when Marie suddenly stumbled. _"Damn_!" she swore, leaning against the wall to better examine her ankle. "How am I supposed to dance _now_?"

"Let me see," Natasha said, switching back to English as she knelt down to examine the injured ankle. She hadn't known what distraction Marie had had in mind to attract his attention, but if this wasn't it, they were going to be in trouble. She started to gently massage the ankle, examining with her fingers for any damage.

_Click_.

Natasha almost jumped at the sound of the door opening, but relaxed infinitesimally when she realized it was only Bonnefoy coming out to see what the fuss was about. While he was wearing nothing but a hotel bathrobe, it was thankfully tied in the front and his wet hair indicated that he'd come out of the shower rather than out of… anything else he could be doing behind closed doors. Noticing the look of pain on Marie's face, he said, "Aw, _chérie__, _what is wrong?" Kneeling by Natasha, she mutely surrendered the ankle to him.

Her gut had gone cold the second she'd put a name to a face.

She knew who this man was because she aided in his death the first time, and killed him herself the second time.

The first time, Bonnefoy had been the Winter Soldier's target, the 'make up target' for the botched attempt on Braginsky and Kirkland before him. A sniped shot from the balconies of Notre Dame cathedral, high in the bell towers, took care of him there. Natasha was supposed to be the flirtatious lady who quietly engineered enough of a fight between Bonnefoy and his Canadian companion so that she'd catch Bonnefoy alone and lead him to the plaza in front of the cathedral.

Done.

When she'd gone later, to clean up after her mentor's failed attempts, she'd tried sneaking into the lavish house overlooking Orléans and kill him then. A large _polar bear_ of all animals had come lumbering out from Bonnefoy's room and down the hall where she'd been trying to get into an open window. Then, as she tried to escape, the bear had tried its damndest to bite her foot off. She'd had to wait another few nights before finally finishing her mission.

Karpov never believed her or her mentor when they said that the politicians couldn't die. Braginsky, Kirkland, Bonnefoy, the Beilschmidt brothers in one memorable escapade… all were still alive even after getting killed once or twice (three times in Gilbert Beilschmidt's case, he came back to try and kill _her_ at one point).

It was shaping up to be a bad week.

She stood up as Bonnefoy fussed over Marie before allowing her to use him and Natasha as a crutch to start walking toward the elevator.

"Ah, I did not see you there, I do apologize," Bonnefoy said, smiling softly as he noticed Natasha helping brace Marie. "What is your name?" he asked as they arrived.

"Natalie, sir," she replied shyly, batting her eyes gently as she nudged the elevator button with an elbow. "Marie is my friend."

"We met when I came to study dance here in New York, after my family moved here from Versailles," Marie said, smiling coquettishly as Bonnefoy smiled, clearly pleased with the two of them.

_Does he ever learn?_

The thought briefly crossed Natasha's mind as the two of them left the elevator and entered the lobby. Bonnefoy and Marie were now talking softly about the beauties of Versailles and France in general, she even went as far to address him as 'Monsieur France' at one point, and Bonnefoy didn't seem to mind too much. Natasha made very brief eye contact with the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that was sitting in the lobby, dressed as another hotel patron reading the newspaper. His eyebrows shot straight up past his hairline when he saw the three of them, and Natasha internally sighed. She had no doubt he was going to run right back to his friends after the mission's completion and tell them exactly what he had seen. It was the hazards of running a mission with junior agents while the senior agent waited in the van on the other end of the parking lot, ready to haul Bonnefoy in by force if the occasion called for it. Too bad Fury didn't allow her to hurt the junior agents that pissed her off with this sort of behavior.

"Tell me Natalie, where are you from?" Bonnefoy asked, turning to Natasha, who glanced shyly down at the ground before she said, "Here in Manhattan, sir. Raised by a single father and went to boarding school, sir." _Stick to the truth as close as possible._ "Dated a while after I started dancing, but it didn't work out."

"Ah, _je suis désolé__,_" Bonnefoy said, smiling sadly as he rubbed her back as best he could from where he was walking. He didn't seem aware of the fact that they were now in the parking lot and he was still wearing a bathrobe. Natasha would have to call ahead for extra clothes, there was no way she would allow the man a shot at freedom just because they had to stop, go back up several floors, and grab a pair of pants. "The way I see it," Bonnefoy continued, completely unaware that his train of thoughts were taking his attention away from his surroundings. "If you truly loved your boyfriend, you would allow him to go, and if he came back, it was meant to be. If not, then the break happened at an opportune moment, and you're free to seek out others."

"What if he were to come back while I was dating someone else?" Natasha asked, doing her best to seek out the damn van while keeping Bonnefoy occupied.

"Ah, forever a complicated situation. My best advice, in such a scenario, would be to take some time from both, and truly assess how you feel about each man without their interference or even interaction. My dear friend Marie would be able to assist you in such a situation," Bonnefoy replied, smiling at Natasha.

"What if they persist? I really don't like starting fights," Natasha said, sticking her lower lip out for emphasis.

"Then my dear, the best thing to do is leave them on your own. They are not worth it if they insist on treating you like a prize," Bonnefoy said dismissively as Marie began to lead the three of them. "_Chérie_, where is your car?"

"Towards the back of the parking lot," Marie replied innocently.

Bonnefoy frowned, looking up. "Where? What do you mean, 'the back of-"

Marie suddenly grabbed the front lapels of the bathrobe and pulled him back for a hungry kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and bracing herself against the ground. Suppressing the sudden urge to gag, Natasha turned and searched frantically for the S.H.I.E.L.D. van, which was still parked in the back, right where the sergeant promised. Signaling the driver, she headed back to where Marie was now struggling to keep Bonnefoy pinned. Natasha was regretful that the afternoon was about to take a nasty turn, but apparently it was necessary since he wouldn't stop struggling.

_Enough is enough._

"Monsieur, the less fight you give us, the less… _trouble_ your partner receives," she said in a curt tone, wishing she had a gun on her to emphasize her point.

Bonnefoy was able to pull away from Marie at that point, and if it meant anything to Bonnefoy, she did look genuinely sorry. "I see your point, Mademoiselle Romanov," he said, turning while keeping a gentle arm around Marie's waist. "Shame you have no weapon to assist you?"

"No, but I've got a van full of backup, so unless you want to cause a scene here in the parking lot, I suggest you come with me _now_," Natasha growled, glancing back and pleased to find that her reinforcements were _finally_ coming.

Bonnefoy frowned. "You mean that the lady here-"

"Never has worked for us before, so therefore she is not Fury's concern," Natasha said, sensing the last-ditch attempt to save Marie's reputation with the man given that she'd _volunteered_ to help out with this aspect of the mission. "Although, once we find your partner, _you_ can explain her presence, not me."

"_Quoi?_" Bonnefoy murmured, apparently just realizing that he was outside in a hotel bathrobe with a strange woman on his arm in a bustling city.

Natasha smirked. _That_ would be a fun conversation to sit in on.

Then she gestured for the S.H.I.E.L.D. teams to swarm in, walking back towards the van to snatch someone's front seat because there was no way in _hell_ that she was going to sit in the back with a former assassination target.

That, and Bonnefoy looked like he was going to be very comfortable anyway.


	17. Caught

**XVII**

**Caught**

* * *

><p>It was absolute chaos in the S.H.I.E.L.D. lobby when Alfred and Steve walked in.<p>

"Did the world end while we were away? I wouldn't put it past Fury to do something like that," Alfred remarked bemusedly, stepping out of a busy staffer's way while the two men took in the chaotic scene around them.

"I think we'd know if that was the case," Steve said, tugging Alfred's sleeve as two more agents hustled by with large, unmarked boxes. "Maybe we should find Director Fury first-"

"Mattie!" Alfred suddenly called out, his delighted cry startling Steve and another small group of staff. Grabbing Steve's arm, he said, "Steve, remember Mattie and Kuma?" as he proceeded to drag Steve to a bench off to the side of the lobby. Steve silently thanked the serum for being able to keep up with Jones without too much pull on his arm; the personification sometimes got a little _too_ excited and forgot about his own strength. He did grin though, once he spotted the familiar Canadian leaning back on the bench he was sitting on, Kumajirou sprawled out on top of his feet.

"Sir," Steve greeted when the two of them arrived, startling Matthew. The Canadian stared incredulously at him before shaking his head.

"And here I thought the news of your return were nothing but rumors. I mean, it's happened once already," Matthew said, grinning as he nudged Kumajirou up so that he could scoot over and let the other two men sit down. "Then I thought it was also a part of Fury's ploy to get Alfred out of the building, he wasn't warmly welcomed the last time he walked in," he added, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"With Jess right there? He wouldn't have dared… right?" Alfred replied, frowning as he sat down next to Matthew.

"Al, this is Nick Fury we're talking about, remember?" Steve countered as he sat down next to Alfred. "He can, and has, gotten away with murder before."

Alfred made a face. "I know, but after Mattie and I sent a hockey puck through Jess' office window two months ago, I've been trying to behave better. I mean, she still doesn't know it was who did it, but I paid for the repairs anyway. Anonymously of course," he said, lowering his voice as he scanned the room anxiously for a sign of the woman in question.

"And it might be in our best interest to keep it anonymous as long as we can, my secretary does occasionally talk to Arthur's, who talks to Jess," Matthew said, frowning as there was a _crash_ near the front doors. "You know, you'd think after sitting in this lobby for two days now, I would have seen everything. But apparently not."

"Really? What's going on now?" Alfred asked, craning his head to get a better look as more and more staff members rushed over to assist.

Steve meanwhile had noticed that a woman standing near the elevators was watching them, frowning slightly until she spotted Alfred. Then, features smoothing out, she calmly began walking over to them, and that was when Steve noticed that unlike everyone else around her, her uniform did not bear S.H.I.E.L.D. insignias or colors. Instead, her uniform had not only the U.S. Seal, but also the now-familiar round seal with the thirteen stars with the eagle in the center as the shoulder patch. Steve leaned back to reach around Alfred and tug on Matthew's sleeve, and once he had Matthew's attention, he asked, "Is that Agent Norwood approaching us?"

Matthew's head snapped in the woman's direction, and he looked genuinely panicked for the briefest of seconds before he forced a smile and tugged on Alfred's shirtsleeve to get the other's attention. "Agent Norwood," he said cheerfully as she came up to them. "So good to see you again."

Alfred, as though on command, tried to jump off the bench and run, but Matthew's grip on his shirt kept him from doing exactly that. "Jess! How're ya doing?" he asked conversationally as he rearranged himself on the bench as though to pretend he didn't just try to run.

'Jess' wasn't fooled. "Better now that I know where you are," she said, eyeing him suspiciously before turning to Steve. "Agent Jess Norwood," she said, offering a hand.

"Ma'am. Captain Steve Rogers," he said, smiling and shaking her hand, standing up as he did.

"_See?_ I _told_ you I was with a friend," Alfred said, pouncing into the conversation. "And you didn't believe me!"

Norwood sighed. "It's not that I didn't believe you, it was Fury I didn't trust," she said tiredly, as thought this was a conversation she'd had before one too many times.

Alfred shrugged. "Well, there's a reason the boss said what he said. Not that I listen to it too much," he replied as he stood up as well. Nodding to the front door, he asked, "What's going on over there?"

"I was on my way over when I spotted you," Norwood replied with a half-hearted shrug, pointedly looking at Alfred even as he gestured in the other direction. Steve suspected that she expected Alfred to disappear the _second _she turned her back to him.

Alfred offered a sheepish smile as Steve tried to look above the heads of the swarming staff to get a better look. "Alfred, is that…?" he began slowly, catching sight of a familiar blond mop of hair.

"_Francis?_" Matthew finished, eyes widening when the crowd parted slightly, and Steve realized that Francis wasn't exactly wearing anything but a hotel bathrobe. "You know what? I don't want to know," Matthew said, cringing slightly before palming his forehead.

"Will miracles ever cease?" Norwood asked, smiling despite herself. She glanced over at the approaching S.H.I.E.L.D. officer, and then placed her hands on her hips before saying, "Agent Quartermain, I have to admit, I'm extremely impressed with your work today. You were able to not only locate two of the most evasive targets, but actually managed to bring one of them home," she said, smiling as Quartermain ducked his head modestly.

"It was no trouble, ma'am," he said, grinning slightly and winking at Alfred's incredulous expression. "All part of the job," he assured her before glancing at Steve. Offering a lazy salute, he said, "Successful mission, Cap?"

"Relatively. Next stop will be London," Steve said. "I met her family here in the States, but apparently Peggy stayed in London after serving as interim MI6 director."

"Yeah, they saw her stint with S.H.I.E.L.D. and got jealous," Quartermain said, grinning. "Maybe I'll come with you, drop off Monsieur Bonnefoy along the way. He's still a little miffed that we rushed him out of the hotel in his bathrobe in broad daylight, but other than that, it was a smooth ride back here," he said, glancing back warily at Bonnefoy, who had shooed enough people away to properly readjust his robe; Matthew, Steve noticed, had gone over and was assisting Bonnefoy with something.

"Wait, what?" Norwood snapped, turning about sharply to face Quartermain again.

To his credit, the other man didn't flinch. "We rushed him out of the hotel, as in, no clothes and only a bathrobe. Black Widow didn't want to risk him trying to escape, and I usually defer to her judgment in cases such as this," Quartermain explained, nodding to the redhead in question as she strode confidently for the elevator.

Norwood nodded. "Is there a spare S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform we can get him?" she asked as the four of them approached the small knot of people.

"I think someone's already gotten to that," Quartermain said, nodding to the Frenchman, who was holding a worn uniform (that had no number patches on the shoulders) as though it had personally offended him. When the four of them got closer, Quartermain left Norwood, Alfred, and Steve, and sidled up to Bonnefoy. "Not exactly the height of Parisian fashion, but it should at least keep you warm," he said, earning the scowl from the Frenchman.

"If only I had been given the opportunity to gather at least one other outfit, and we wouldn't be having this problem," Bonnefoy said, mimicking Quartermain's innocent tone before elbowing him to the side, turning instead to fuss over Matthew briefly before spotting Alfred. "Ah, Jones. I trust your holiday was satisfactory?"

"Yep! And look who I brought back!" Alfred said eagerly, taking Steve's elbow and dragging him closer.

Bonnefoy seemed surprised, then sad, then smirked again, the last one covering all others up. "Ahh, Captain Rogers. It has been _quite_ some time, has it not?" he said, a familiar grin crossing his face.

"Indeed sir, it is good to see that you look well," Steve replied.

Bonnefoy preened for a moment before sighing, holding up the worn S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform up for emphasis. "I wish I could agree, Captain, but unfortunately my captors did not allow me a chance to collect my belongings or even a spare set of clothes, so I have to settle for this bathrobe and this… this thing," Bonnefoy said, eyeing the uniform with slight distaste as he held it in two fingers. Lowering it, he said, "It was rather… _surprising_ to hear of your survival in the papers."

Steve nodded, feeling slightly wary of the Frenchman; the other's tone seemed to be slightly resentful, but of what or why Steve didn't know. "It was quite a shock for me as well, to wake up in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical facility sixty years after the war," he said carefully. "I hadn't even known that I lived, it was like waking up after a quick rest on the field."

Bonnefoy nodded, but Alfred chose that moment to swoop in and say, "Francis, Arhtur's coming. Apparently he's on the warpath again…"

"If it's about the exploding tea, then it was not my fault," Bonnefoy growled, looking around for the Englishman in question as he stiffened, grip tightening on the uniform as though getting ready to throw it.

"Williams, take him out of here and get him dressed," Hill barked, startling the group. Walking up to Steve, she said, "Rogers, Fury wants you in his office immediately." Glancing at Alfred, she said, "The same goes for you too, Jones and Norwood." Then she left, deliberately ignoring Norwood's soft scowl.

"Pushy. She's too easy to irritate, it's something that's always bothered me," Alfred muttered as he and Steve headed towards the elevators, Jess close behind. "Although I wonder what Fury could want from me, wouldn't have Jess told him by now that I was back," he added as the elevator doors promptly opened as soon as he pressed the button.

"That's the thing, I haven't had a chance to speak to him for a few hours, even when I wanted to," Norwood said, slipping into the elevator behind the two men. "I thought at first he was hiding on purpose, but I suspect that something else came up and demanded his attention. Quartermain suspects the same thing though, said that this sort of thing happens all the time."

"He likes you, you know that? He sold me out on purpose just to impress you," Alfred said as the doors closed while Steve hit the button for the top floor.

Norwood shrugged. "I think he might be a little too old for me, and he certainly hasn't given any sign of the sort," she said, shrugging with a shoulder.

Steve shrugged. "At least it's nowhere near the age gap I'm looking at once I find someone," he pointed out.

Alfred snorted. "No matter who I find, I'll still beat the two of you," he said, smirking as Norwood shook her head.

"Never said it was a contest," she countered, shaking her head with a faint smile. "And don't start that during the meeting today, the last thing you all need are more distractions."

"What meetings are you referring to? I feel like I've heard the reference over and over in the last couple days, but don't know what it is that you're talking about," Steve asked, glancing between Norwood and Alfred.

"G8. Or they would be G8 meetings if there wasn't at least one person doing something else under the table," Alfred said, rolling his eyes at Norwood's sigh.

"You know, I'd sympathize with you if I didn't already know that you were the instigator half the time," Norwood replied, grinning despite her words.

"Ivan had it coming that one time," Alfred said back. He turned to Steve and said, "You thought Ivan Braginsky was bad that one time in the middle of World War Two? You haven't seen him post-Cold War yet." Then he turned back to Norwood and said, "Besides, I had _much_ better things to do than sit around in a stuffy boardroom all day, so I improvised," he said, winking at Steve, who grinned.

"Trust me when I say he didn't, Captain. 'Training' the Secret Service recruits is something that can usually wait until _after_ the meetings. Even though it does mean they benefit from the exercise," Norwood said, her tone serious despite the smile twitching on the edge of her lips.

Alfred made a face as the elevator came to a stop. "She's still mad that she spent her first day on the job getting a personalized tour of DC while looking for me," he said cheekily as the doors opened and he moved to step off.

And walked straight into a larger man that Steve recognized as Ivan Braginsky.

The Russian merely smiled as Alfred stumbled backwards, sputtering and cursing, before he reached out and clasped Alfred on the shoulder. Steve moved forward to break up the impending fight, Norwood right behind him, but Braginsky casually moved Alfred aside as though he didn't weigh very much. A smile graced his face when he spotted Steve, and he clapped his hands and said, "Comrade Rogers! Always good to see you, I was wondering when we would meet face to face again."

Steve offered what he hoped was a polite smile. "Comrade Braginsky, it is good to see you again as well," he said, moving instinctively in front of Norwood.

The Russian merely continued to smile. "Indeed. Is your little friend around here as well? I never got to properly thank him for the lovely sparring match we had the first time we met," he said, earning a soft hiss from behind him.

Steve nodded warily as an unfamiliar woman moved from behind Braginsky, both of her hands hidden behind her skirts. If Alfred's panicked expression was anything to go by though, Steve knew it couldn't be good. "Well, I'm sorry to say this, but Bucky died in 1945 the same day I supposedly did," he said, watching Braginsky carefully.

The Russian merely raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then what about the American assassin that tried to hurt my baby sister and me back in 1953?" he asked patiently. "We most certainly didn't imagine _him_."

"Well, you must have because we never _once_ sent an assassin after you," Alfred cut in, stepping forward as though preparing to break Steve and Braginsky apart.

Braginsky turned and quietly studied Alfred as though unsure if Alfred would dare to lie to him this far into their alliance. "I remember that night very well, Mr. Jones. Given that Director Fury is already harboring one of the two assassins from that night, it would be that far of a stretch to assume he would be harboring the other," he said, the smile promptly dropping from his face.

"What confuses you is that Fury and the United States government are two entities that are completely independent of the other," Alfred said carefully.

"The other problem with the accusation is that Bucky has been dead for sixty years," Steve said, quiet anger burning in his chest.

Braginsky's childlike smile returned as he turned back to Steve. "You've been in the ice for sixty years. How would you know that?" he asked cheerfully as he stepped around Steve and entered the elevator, the woman close behind him.

Steve waited until he was sure that the elevator doors were closed and the car was already on its way down before he rounded to Alfred. "Is he seriously accusing Bucky of assassination when_ he's already dead?_" he demanded even as Alfred began shaking his head.

"No, he's trying to bait you because he knows that you and I are close friends and he hates me," Alfred said, gesturing for Steve to follow him to Fury's office. "Just let it go, pretend he's General Phillips…"

"That would only work for you, I actually paid attention to General Phillips," Steve replied, grinning as they both entered Fury's office.

Norwood was already sitting in one of three chairs in front of Fury's desk, looking more cautious than ever while the director paced in front of the large windows behind his desk chair. He gestured silently for Alfred and Steve to sit down before he resumed pacing. Then Teresa shut the office door, remaining outside.

There were a few more minutes of silence. Then Fury came to a stop and then sighed. "Agent Norwood, while your earlier anger is justified, threatening to sic the US government, or any member thereof, on me is a poor move," he said, moving to lean on the back of his chair. "I care about the fate of these personifications as well, as do the select few on my senior staff who know the secret."

Norwood raised an eyebrow. "You seem confident that there will be a next time."

"I've been at this job for almost twenty years, Agent Norwood, and I was an operative under Director Stoner before me. I don't know what they tell you at the White House, but we're not as clean-cut as they like to think," Fury said. "I'm _confident_ that there will be a next time. It's also come to my attention that the President gave you a request prior to this mission, am I correct?"

Steve glanced at the other two, noting that Alfred swallowed nervously but Norwood remained steadfast. "What makes you so sure?" she asked finally.

"Because it's the same dance the president and I do every single time anyone from DC shows up here at his request. That and there was one emissary who told us," Fury said, moving to sit down in his chair.

Alfred stiffened. "That was you? Who ambushed Ritter?" he demanded.

Fury scowled. "Hell no, kid. I've got better things to do than to chase errant CIA agents," he said, shaking his head. "My main point here is that if the White House attempts one more time to assert its authority _here_, they're going to be a few employees short."

"Understood, sir," Alfred said solemnly.

Fury nodded almost absently, leaning back in his chair. Focusing on Norwood, he said, "All of your charges are accounted for, turns out the Canadian was hanging out downstairs the entire time. We bribed the Ritz Hotel to provide rooms and a place for their meetings, and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have corralled them there. While this is no longer my concern, I am leaving you with a small strike team of five agents under your command." Here, Fury smirked and said, "Special Agent Sharon Carter is the strike team leader, and she will be relaying your orders to the team and vice versa."

Alfred winced as Steve glanced curiously at Fury. "You gave us the most stubborn of your spec ops guys?" he asked.

Fury shrugged. "She wanted something to do, I knew Norwood would want the best, so here we are," he said. "I let her pick the rest of the team, I have something else going on that requires my attention."

Norwood nodded. "And where is Agent Carter?" she asked.

Fury nodded toward the office door. "Try downstairs, she might be waiting with the team there," he said mildly, sitting up straight again. "Anything else?"

"No, Director Fury, that will be all. Thank you for your assistance," Norwood replied before standing up and gesturing for Alfred to come with her. Alfred jumped up and followed, whispering something about 'what did Fury mean by 'sic government and members thereof on him'. Fury cleared his throat, and Alfred promptly shut up before the two left the office.

Fury waited until the two of them had left and the door had clicked shut behind them before he sighed. "I love Jones, he's got good intentions. Norwood looks promising for a potential S.H.I.E.L.D. career after she leaves that job, she'll only have it for four years tops before the president changes them again. It's their boss I don't like, I swear they get less and less competent every year," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I haven't had a chance to meet him yet, perhaps next time I head down to DC," Steve said. He tilted his head, and then asked, "Has Hydra been on the move again?"

"Yeah, still in the process of actually finding them, clever bastards have gotten better at hiding. Let's head downstairs to see if any progress has been made. At least the personifications are now _finally_ out my responsibility, hope Norwood and the team can keep them in line for a week," Fury said grimly before standing up and gesturing that Steve follow him out of the office.


	18. Strike

**XVIII**

**Strike**

* * *

><p>The silence was starting to get on Sharon Carter's nerves.<p>

It was almost midnight, and despite the fact she was almost done with her two-hour watch shift, she couldn't relax. She knew she could always write it off as anxiety for her upcoming meeting with Agent Norwood, the mandatory check-in, but she somehow knew that she was only making excuses in that regard. A habit she'd always tried to kick since the botched mission years ago, she knew that the anxiety had to come from somewhere, and more often than not, her assumptions of trouble usually came true.

_Damn_.

She couldn't tell if the diplomats on her floor were settling down for the evening or were just getting started with whatever it was that they did when they were all in the same building together and off-duty. It wasn't any of her business, but she thought she'd feel better once she knew that they wouldn't switch rooms the _second_ her back was turned. Already, she'd run into the older Beilschmidt trying to sneak up a floor, the sociable of the Vargas twins trying to sneak _down_ to her floor, and the Spaniard searching for the other Vargas twin. All had been accidental encounters, of course, but she'd sent each one back to his proper room before turning around again. She only caught the Vargas twin trying to sneak back, but it was still confirmation of the sneaking around. The other aggravating thing was that the younger personifications evidently saw the whole matter as a game, to either psych her out or see how far from their rooms they could get before she caught them and dragged them back to their rooms.

_What did I do to deserve this?_

She still hadn't figured it out. Today should have been her first day of leave, and she'd been planning to go to London and visit a friend for two weeks. She and Norwood had already butted heads once, the fight ending in a stalemate when it was time to switch guards. That meant Sharon wasn't quite looking forward to the next check in with the federal agent, especially since she now could no longer remember what started the fight in the first place.

"Knock, knock."

She turned, and grinned when she spotted her friend and partner-in-crime approaching her. "Amy, have I ever told you what an awesome friend you are?" she teased as Amy flipped her off, her number—_56_—flashing in the hotel light.

"Yeah, lucky for you. I was supposed to start leave today, Fury promised that when he corralled me into escorting Captain Rogers to Washington DC this past week or so," she grumbled, glancing up and down the hall. "Are the some of the diplomats still up or something? Thought I heard footsteps…"

"Not as much as earlier, it's just the kids from Sealand and Seborga that are still up," Sharon said, scowling into the darkness of the hall. "Even though their room assignments are upstairs, the kid from Sealand is supposed to be with the Finn and Swede, even though he's been gallivanting around down here," she added, purposefully leaving the two out of the diplomat lineup. "I also have no idea who is supposed to be watching the Seborga kid."

Amy made a face. "I'll stick 'em with the first adult I see," she said, shrugging with a shoulder before glancing around. "Oh, and Agent Norwood wanted to see you as soon as you finished up here, so if you can coax coffee from her, that would be greatly appreciated. Or get permission for a coffee run. Something to keep me awake for the next two hours."

"What, you didn't stock up on caffeine before you came?" Sharon teased as she handed the rifle over to Amy. "And even if Norwood disagrees, I'll get your damned coffee for you."

"Sharon, have I ever told you what an awesome friend you are?" Amy mockingly replied, albeit still grinning

Sharon rolled her eyes but headed for the nearby elevator. She knew that Norwood would be ending her own shift around now as well, and would most likely meet Sharon near the outdated coffee machine that the Ritz Hotel staff had placed out for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s use; Sharon suspected that it was the staff's subtle way of flipping the bird to S.H.I.E.L.D. since the agency's presence apparently disturbed other guests.

Sharon hated how civilians were occasionally a necessary evil.

The lobby was empty save for the late night concierge behind his desk, raising an eyebrow as he spotted Sharon. She crossed the lobby to the coffee machine and tried to get a cup going, but frowned when she saw that the machine was empty. No wonder Amy hadn't brought it up when begging for coffee. Sharon pulled her tablet out and sent an emailed request for a recruit to bring coffee from headquarters or one of the local coffee shops, not caring either way about which option Fury chose.

"No more coffee?"

"No, I think the staff here doesn't like us very much," Sharon said, turning to face Norwood as the other woman approached her. For a moment, the two of them stood in uneasy silence. Then Sharon sighed, deciding to offer the olive branch first since she was well aware that the two of them were going to be working together in the near future. "I'm sorry about the fight earlier," she said finally, glancing at Norwood, who looked momentarily confused until she remembered their earlier disagreement. Sharon pressed on and said, "It's just that yes, I do realize how important this assignment is and yes, I do know that the 'diplomats' are actually country personifications and are immortal. So please _don't_ tell me how to do my job, I know I can handle it."

Norwood froze at the mention of the personifications, and then studied her warily. "How did you find out about the personifications?" she asked carefully, keeping her voice low.

"Even if Fury didn't tell me once I joined his staff, it wasn't hard to figure out the immortal part," Sharon said, shrugging with one shoulder. "My great-aunt fought in World War Two before serving S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while. Then after that, she became an MI6 director until she retired in the 1990s. Over time, she became well known and highly respected in London's elite circles." Sharon paused to shudder at a particular memory. "I used to visit Aunt Peggy every summer with my family, and they expected me to be on my best behavior every time I met a friend of hers."

"That doesn't sound _too_ bad…" Norwood said, frowning.

"When you're six years old, it's the worst thing that can happen to you, trust me," Sharon said, shuddering. "Anyway, Aunt Peggy took us to this Sunday weekly tea with Mr. Kirkland and the Holmes family. Turned out to be the best thing that happened to me, I made friends with the youngest Holmes child, he and I were the same age. Year after year, my friend and I got older, as did the adults, but Kirkland never changed. I stopped going to London when I turned eighteen, and here I am seven years later and Kirkland hasn't changed a bit," she explained, leaning against the table in contemplation. "Fury told me about the personifications the day I joined his upper staff of agents, when I was assigned to guard Mr. von Bock from potential harassment from Braginsky at a conference in Moscow."

Norwood was quiet for a moment. "He does realize that the personifications are a secret, correct?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He said he had less qualms about send us out on missions like that if he knew that we knew _exactly_ what we were dealing with. More fair to us that way. But I'm the only one on this particular security detail that knows about the personifications, so I wouldn't worry about it too much," Sharon said, glancing at the other woman.

Norwood nodded, eyes still unfocused as she sighed tiredly before turning to Sharon. "What is it like to work with him? Fury, I mean," she asked.

Sharon blinked at the question for a moment. She hadn't thought about a question like that in a while, mostly because she argued with the director frequently, rarely agreed with him, but they still got along well in all other times. "We-ell, the only thing that enables for me to say that I have a good working relationship with Fury is that while you do have to follow orders, you have to be unafraid to either question them or follow instincts when the situation calls for it. And turn a blind eye when expected," she said, emphasizing the last part when she glanced at Norwood.

"FBI. Turning a blind eye is something of a pre-requisite," she replied, shrugging with one shoulder. "It wasn't until after I started minding Jones that I felt that I had to be extremely careful, in case something happened to him that he couldn't recover from."

"I understand that, but it can be that attitude that can get you into trouble. The trick is to swear loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. and never look back."

"Is that what you did?" Norwood asked quietly.

"Only after I returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. from being left to die on the other side of the world," she said before looking up as the main doors to the hotel opened. Frowning, Sharon looked up and said, "Holstein, what are you…" her voice died in her throat as she stared at the redhead's compatriots, not even looking away as the concierge dove behind his counter.

Erica Holstein had several men surrounding her, wearing a sickeningly familiar green uniform with the_ H_ emblazoned on the front. More importantly, there was a hulking man with a skull-like mask on his face, but Sharon _really _didn't need to see the man's face in order to determine who he was. Everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about the mercenary known as Crossbones, as he was the only man who would willingly work for Hydra despite the inherent risks of associating with the international terrorist organization. Despite the infamous incompetence of Hydra foot soldiers, however, Sharon still knew that she and Norwood were horrendously outnumbered.

Turning back to Erica, Sharon asked, "Holstein, dare I ask what the _hell_ are you doing?"

The woman, still bravely wearing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s own colors, took a few steps forward, prompting Sharon to move closer to Norwood. "Oh, Miss Rogers," Holstein hissed softly, reaching to her side for something Sharon couldn't see. "I thought you wouldn't have forgotten Madripoor _so_ easily."

_Rogers?_ Sharon hadn't used the alias of 'Elsa Rogers' in years, not since her last tangle with a Hydra cell. In fact, that had also been the last time that S.H.I.E.L.D. ever saw the formidable Sinthea Schmidt, the only living heir to the Red Skull himself-

_Hydra got a female operative into the ranks…he just saw a Hydra operative putting on a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform._

_Of course_.

Sharon merely smiled, casually moving so that she was standing in front of Norwood. "Well played, well played, Sinthea. You were clever at the game," she said, nudging Norwood toward the stairwell behind them. "And since it was only ever you and me, why don't we keep it that way?" she asked, nudging Norwood again. This time, the other woman understood what Sharon wanted her to do.

Sinthea merely smirked before raising her gun. "Oh, Carter. You know I do _hate_ witnesses."

Sharon and Norwood started running right as Sinthea's men opened fire

* * *

><p>Dodging the patrolling S.H.I.E.L.D. agents was a challenge.<p>

Dodging the patrolling S.H.I.E.L.D. agents _and_ an angry Swiss armed to the teeth was just entertainment at its finest.

In Gilbert Beilschmidt's opinion, anyway.

It was a little past midnight now, and Gilbert and Lili were trying to sneak back downstairs to Gilbert's room without getting caught at all. At first, the game had been out of necessity since Vash was going to murder Gilbert for drugging his wine earlier that evening with sleeping pills so that Gilbert and Lili could sneak off for the night. _That_ plan had gone spectacularly south when Vash, trying to be nice to Roderich, gave the drugged wine to the Austrian after Feliciano knocked Roderich's first glass out of his hand. Which mean that Roderich was now dead to the world while Elizaveta contemplated the best way to murder Vash. Given Gilbert's grimaces during dinner, it hadn't taken the Swiss marksman long at all to figure out _who_ started it.

"_Shhh,_ I hear him coming! Lili whispered, stifling her giggles as she remained still in the hall closet, tucked against Gilbert's side. They heard Vash's familiar footsteps pacing around just outside, and Gilbert glanced at his watch, aware that the S.H.I.E.L.D. patrol was almost there. Then he grinned before gently picking Gilbird up and stuffing him into a jacket pocket; the bird was growing agitated and starting to distract him. He carefully listened to the footsteps pausing, and then slowly resume as Vash began an attempt at sneaking away from something.

Or someone.

_Click! Click!_

"Christ, what the _hell_ are you doing with that? It's _midnight_, for God's sake!" a woman snapped, even Gilbert flinching at her tone.

"Sorry, ma'am. I'm just looking for an impertinent albino Prussian who stole my baby sister," Vash growled.

A soft sigh of frustration. "For the love of God, don't give me a heart attack and put that damn rifle away," the woman snapped before she moved onto the next part of her patrol. Vash's distinctive footsteps resumed a moment later.

"Wait until his footsteps are gone," Lili whispered as the footsteps drew closer for moment, and then there was a soft scuffing sound, as though Vash had turned on a heel to walk back down the other way. Sure enough, Gilbert found himself grinning as he heard Vash's footsteps finally resume and grow fainter until the two of them could no longer hear him.

"_Now!_"

Stifling her giggles, Lili clambered out of the supply closet first, checking to make sure that her brother was nowhere in sight before she turned back to help Gilbert out as well. "It's safe, but I think he went that way," she whispered, nodding down the hall. "We'll have a better chance with the stairwell closest to us."

Gilbert nodded and whispered, "Follow me." Tugging her arm, he gestured for her to follow him as they headed toward the stairwell. "I may have to kick Luddy out of our room, I don't know if Lovino went to Antonio's room so that Feli and my brother can go to theirs."

Lili smiled as she easily kept up with Gilbert. "Whoever did the room assignments really needs to try again, less re-shuffling around that way," she said, pausing long enough for Gilbert to open the door to the stairwell. She slipped through ahead of Gilbert, and glanced back at him after a moment. "Up or down?" she whispered.

"Down one floor. There's a security officer down there as well, so watch out," Gilbert warned as they crept down the stairs. He smiled before ducking for a gentle kiss, light against her cheek before smiling fondly at her. "And if you don't want to do anything, we can just sleep," he quietly assured her, gently brushing some hair behind an ear.

She smiled softly before capturing his hand so she could kiss the fingertips. "Thank you," she whispered in a light voice.

Gilbert hugged her before turning to continue walking down the stairs.

Only come to a dead stop when he sensed _her_.

He hesitated, trying to identify the queasy feeling he'd always associated with Hitler's underlings. He did occasionally experience it over the years, as he ran into ex-Nazi leaders or soldiers, but each officer had a distinctive edge to it that differed between individuals. This particular edge, he hadn't felt in years ever since he thought the owner had died, but if she was truly back, he was going to be in for one hell of an awkward evening. Ludwig, he knew, was still downstairs and most likely with Feliciano, which meant he had to get them _both_ out in one piece, or at least before she noticed.

Swallowing nervously, he turned to Lili, who stood patiently yet confused at his side. "Hey Lili, I've got an idea that could remove the risk of your brother walking in on us," he said, forcing a grin that he didn't feel.

"Oh? How is that?" she asked, crossing her arms across her chest with a raised eyebrow.

"Go back upstairs, run to him, and tell him you saw me going into his and your room, and then lock him inside when he goes in to murder me," Gilbert said, feeling his jaw ache with the effort of maintaining the false smile.

To his relief, Lili nodded without complaint. "Just so you know, I can tell when you're trying to distract me," she said before kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Be safe and don't do anything stupid."

Gilbert scoffed. "When I have ever-" he fell silent at Lili's disbelieving expression, and then said, "Right, point taken." Running a frustrated hand through his white hair, he said in what he hoped was a calm tone, "I'll be back in a few." He touched her cheek, seemed to think better of it, and then withdrew his hand. He stepped back to watch her go, and then turned to walk down the rest of the flight of stairs to his floor.

Pushing the stairwell door open, he slipped inside, quietly shutting the door behind him as he took note of the redheaded menace that he'd thought he'd gotten rid of years ago. She stood with her back to him amidst carnage of a recent, and unfair, fight that ended with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent on the ground, red pooling around her torso and somehow avoiding her number: 56. He sighed, and then said, "Sinthea Schmidt. And here I thought I'd washed my hands of you," he said, grinning nastily as the woman turned on her heel, momentarily startled before she froze when she saw him.

He didn't flinch when she narrowed her eyes at him. The Red Skull's daughter hadn't changed since the last time they saw each other in Berlin, when he'd tricked her and chained her to a stair railing as the Russian invasion began. If anything, she'd only grown into a twisted caricature of her father, the tatters of a S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform hanging off her shoulders. Shocked green eyes stared at him for a second before she brought the gun up and aiming straight at his heart. "You… you're supposed to be_ dead_," she growled, bristling as he approached her.

"Yeah, well, so are you," Gilbert replied, hoping that Ludwig at least had the sense to get the hell out of there. "At least I have an excuse. What's yours?"

Sinthea took a step away from him before her face twisted in anger and she fired at him.

Gilbert ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding the bullet and nearly screeching in surprised shock when he realized that someone had snuck up _behind_ him, namely Sinthea's apparent henchman, Crossbones. Scrambling to regain balance, he flattened against the wall as both Sinthea and Crossbones cornered him.

"Let's see you walk away from this one," Sinthea snarled before firing again.

The shot went completely wide.

Confused, Gilbert looked up in time to see Ludwig _shove_ Sinthea from behind, sending her into Crossbones. "_Run!"_ he shouted to a dazed Gilbert, who nodded mutely before taking off after his brother.

The two of them ran down to the other end of the hall, Gilbird just barely keeping up with them; the bird had broken free when Gilbert stumbled earlier. When they arrived, Gilbert belatedly remembered Feliciano. "Where's Vargas?" he asked, glancing worriedly down the hall where Sinthea was picking herself up off the floor.

"Hiding under the bed, he's safe there," Ludwig replied as the brothers took note of the Hydra soldiers gathering behind Sinthea, Crossbones flanking close to her right as she pulled out a rifle. "Once again?" Ludwig asked wearily

"Except I go first this time," Gilbert said, bristling when Ludwig reached out to hold him back. Gilbert knew Sinthea's technique too well for this to be an easy kill on her part. He charged the second she did.

There was a horrendous _crash_ as the two collided into each other, Gilbert scrabbling to get a solid grip on the gun before she shoved him back to the ground. Grunting, he easily righted himself and kicked at Sinthea's knees, causing her to stumble backwards. With a strangled scream, she threw the gun to the side and jumped on him, straddling him to better reach his throat.

_Bang!_

Gilbert managed to use the gunshot as a sufficient distraction to throw Sinthea off and nearly stopped in shock as he watched Lili, sweet Lili, artfully dodge a backwards swing from Crossbones as she tried to dart closer to Gilbert. Crossbones, bleeding from the shoulder, snarled as he missed and raised a hand to punch her in the back, but suddenly pitched forward right as Sinthea screamed "_Brock!"_

Gilbert had never before been so happy to see Vash Zwingli, even as the Swiss lowered the rifle to meet Sinthea's challenge straight on. Then Gilbert's gut twisted in horror when Lili turned back to find out what just happened at the same time Sinthea looked back at Gilbert to follow his line of sight to Lili.

She chuckled softly when she made the connection, and swiftly slammed his head against the ground before he could warn Lili, sufficiently knocking him out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Sorry for disappearing for so long, my muse disappeared and then things got busy here. I hope to finish the story this year, so keep an eye out :)**


	19. Whisper

**XIX**

**Whisper**

* * *

><p>Without further prompting, Steve leaned forward and shut the radio off.<p>

Alfred didn't say anything about the news report, just continued muttering incoherently underneath his breath as he held the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Steve had volunteered to drive when Alfred picked him up—the personification seemed distracted, still did now—yet somehow, Alfred managed the maneuvers of a tried-and-true New Yorker who had braved the streets time and time again. Leaning back in his seat, Steve glanced at Alfred and said, "What's going on? The report was a little vague."

"Not entirely sure, I just know that Jess has been hospitalized along with a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents She called me less than a few minutes ago," Alfred replied absently, brow furrowing as he cut a few taxis off. Shaking his head, he said, "It's hard for me to get a good sense of the situation right now."

"Too much interference from another source?" Steve asked quietly.

Alfred nodded. "It _is_ a hospital, I can feel everyone who is in pain there," he replied, glancing in a mirror before entering the hospital driveway.

Steve grimaced. "I can only imagine how you handled the war," he said as Alfred pulled dup to the hospital main entrance. "If there are S.H.I.E.L.D. agents here, then Fury will already be here unless he's on the way," he said, glancing at Alfred, who nodded nervously. "I'll check on Ms. Norwood after I locate Fury and the other S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel. Park the car, and the meet me inside" he said, undoing his seatbelt before pushing the passenger door open and stepping out.

"You don't think this is one of Fury's games, do you?" Alfred asked, stopping Steve in his motion.

"He wouldn't mess around with something like this, especially if one of his own was injured. I think especially since Ms. Norwood is a federal agent, and Fury's butted heads with the government enough over the New York debacle," Steve said reassuringly. "I'll go find her and text you the room number."

Alfred nodded nervously before allowing Steve to shut the door so he could leave the driveway and find a parking spot.

Steve, meanwhile, turned and head into the hospital, fumbling with his wallet so that he could reach for his S.H.I.E.L.D. ID card, aware that he was about to pull a Fury-style maneuver. As he crossed the hospital lobby, he saw the receptionist begin to stand up as she gestured towards the sign that clearly marked hospital visiting hours. He lifted the ID card and said, "S.H.I.E.L.D. business. Where are Agent Jessica Norwood and the other S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel who arrived earlier this evening?"

The receptionist stiffened. "Sir, you could be the president and I wouldn't tell you where they are without the proper authorization and permissions from Director Fury," she said in a stiff tone.

"Did Director Fury not put me on the authorization list?" Steve asked, careful to keep his tone even to avoid a potential confrontation as he handed over his ID card for her inspection.

"Let me check," she said, glancing warily at him for a moment before she sat down again to access the computer records.

Steve waited patiently as she worked, pulling his phone to make sure that Fury hadn't already texted him with the proper room number and putting it away when he saw the usual screen. He tried to figure out how Hydra could have slipped into Fury's ranks without Fury noticing, aside from the fact that the organization had somehow managed to survive despite the loss of their leader at the end of the war. Hopefully Fury still had the security tapes of the actual attack, giving him something to study and perhaps identify some of those involved.

_First things first_. He had to find Agent Norwood and then identify the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents involved so he could work backwards in order to ascertain if anyone had been killed or captured earlier that night.

"Ah, here we go, Steven Rogers. I'm assuming that your companion will be along soon?" the receptionist asked as she printed out a visitor's pass, a list of room numbers visible on the pass. "There's a second name on the authorization list that doesn't look like one of your agents."

"Yes, he's coming, he's just parking the car," Steve said, accepting both his ID card and the visitor's pass. He glanced at the pass for a moment before he asked, "What does the list of numbers refer to?

"Oh, the room numbers that you are permitted to visit as determined by Director Fury. Meant to prevent you from wandering around and going where you're not permitted. You're required to wear it at all times within the hospital," she replied coolly and Steve understood in that moment that she had not forgiven him for the earlier transgression.

"Duly noted. Thank you, ma'am," he said before glancing at the pass for the first room number and then pinned it to his shirt. As he had yet to find Fury, he decided that checking the S.H.I. . personnel was critical, especially if one was still consciously and felt up to answering the few questions Steve had about the attack.

The first room held a male officer that Steve didn't recognize, but whose rank on the chart at the foot of the bed marked him as a lieutenant. His eyes fluttered briefly when Steve paused in the doorway, but soon fell still and didn't move again as Steve briefly scanned his chart. The heart rate monitor continued at its steady pace as he then left the room for the second number on the visitor's pass, mindful of the hospital security guards that passed him several times.

The next occupant, however, was awake.

And Steve recognized her right away.

Agent 56 was propped up in her bed despite the visible bandages down her arm and shoulder. A bulge around her middle underneath the hospital gown revealed the further damage she'd sustained during the attack. She glanced up when he entered, visibly tensing for a moment until she recognized him. "Captain, um, hi?" she said, sounding more bewildered than anything. Steve frowned—she'd been more formal the first time they met—but then he noticed the machine on her right, the embedded IV line, and the relaxed expression on her face.

"They've got you on the good stuff, then?" he asked, quickly glancing at her chart.

"Mm, I told them that I had better not feel an ounce of pain or I'd kill them later, once I got out," 56 remarked, gesturing vaguely towards the morphine bag. She set her book down before leaning against the pillow. "Any particular reason why you are here, Captain? I'm not really going to sleep anytime soon, so I wouldn't mind a quick chitchat."

"It's only been several hours since the attack, past morning even. I'm surprised you're not falling asleep already," he said lightly, pulling up a chair to the side of the bed.

56 shrugged. "Can't sleep, to be honest," she said quietly, shrugging one shoulder in dismissal. "Every time I close my eyes, all I see is that crazy, red-haired_ bitch_ and that pet muscle of hers charging straight for me, and I _really_ don't want that to be the last thing I see before I die," she said in a small voice, seeming to shrink down on herself. "And I'm scared that something will happen to me if I do sleep."

Steve reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, I'll be going out after them so you can rest easy," he whispered reassuringly.

56 quietly regarded him before she asked, "And you'll bring my friend home?"

"Of course. Who is your friend?" Steve asked gently with a soft smile.

She smiled weakly, the heart rate monitor at her bedside starting to beep more rapidly in warning. "Agent Thirteen, sir. She's my best friend and sister, sir," she replied, her voice sliding into a murmur.

Steve nodded even as he glanced at the door to see Fury standing there. "I'll find her, don't worry," he said, squeezing her wrist gently before standing up. 56's eyes slid close into sleep as Steve crossed the room and slipped out after Fury. "What's the current situation?" he asked, careful to keep his voice down.

"Absolute disarray. We're still trying to figure out how the hell Hydra got into headquarters in the first place, and I seem to be the only one who is worried about where Hydra is hiding out there since despite my best efforts, they're still alive and holed up somewhere," Fury said in a low voice as he led Steve down the hall towards another room door, where not only it was partially open, but Steve could also see that the room lights were on. "Found Jones when I went looking for you, directed him to Jess's room. Luckily, the agent survived, but she won't be going anywhere soon. Evidently, she and Agent Thirteen were present for Hydra's opening assault, and the two were quickly separated," Fury said, pushing the door open without bothering to knock.

Jess looked unusually awake for someone who, only hours ago had been on the receiving end of a Hydra attack. Unlike Agent 56, she was fully aware of her surroundings and was in the middle of a heated discussion with Alfred until Fury walked in. She nodded once to Steve as Fury closed the door behind them and then he reached for a computer bag nearby. "Captain," she greeted.

"Agent Norwood," Steve said before taking a seat in the other plastic chair in the room. "I take it that you're feeling all right?" he asked as Fury pulled out and opened a laptop.

"Just feeling a little woozy from the pain meds, but other than that, I feel relatively fine," Jess replied. She glanced at Alfred, who still looked unusually nervous. "He won't calm down though, even after I told him that everything is going to be all right."

Steve raised an eyebrow before glancing at Alfred, who tried and failed to arrange his expression into something more normal. It took Steve a few seconds, however, to first recall and then realize where he'd seen that face before sans relief. "Humor him," he said, turning to Jess for a moment before turning to Fury. "Do we have _any_ data on Hydra's location?" he asked.

"No, I've been waiting for data that my London team was supposed to collect a while ago on suspected Hydra activity in their old stomping grounds," Fury said, pulling up what looked like security footage from a street camera. Steve leaned forward and recognized the steps of Buckingham Palace, where a few S.H.I.E.L.D. agents milled about while trying to manage crowd control.

"Yeah, Arthur gave me a flashdrive to give you that went along similar lines to that," Alfred said, casually leaning back in his seat next to Jess's bed. After a moment of silence, he looked up to find everyone staring at him. "What?"

"How long have you been holding onto that flashdrive?" Fury asked, his eye twitching slightly.

"Ummm…a couple hours? I really hadn't had much of a chance to see Arthur until tonight, we were all over the place for a couple days, remember?" Alfred said, completely oblivious to Fury's glare as he fished around in his pockets for the flashdrive. Fury's scowl deepened but smoothed back over right as Alfred turned back to give him the device. "How long have you known about Hydra activity in Europe?" Alfred asked as Fury turned around to stick the flashdrive into the computer.

"Two seconds, I've had suspicions for much longer, but no firm confirmation," Fury replied as a map appeared on the computer screen, green lines against a black background. "Although clearly, I haven't been vigilant enough if they managed to blatantly slip through the cracks and into my ranks like the way they did."

Steve merely raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Instead, he leaned forward for a better look while Fury lifted the laptop and placed it on a table so they could all see. A map of Central Europe lay before them, yellow dots scattered about Germany and several parts of France. "Are the dots the locations of suspected Hydra activity?" he asked after a moment.

"Correct. The map itself is based off borrowed data from several regional energy plants. I had several pilots based in England perform flyovers under the pretense of surveys for those plants, using the geographical coordinates taken from where the energy is either the strongest or the lines intersect to try and find any visible landmarks," Fury explained as he pressed a few commands to zoom the image closer. "What first tipped me off was the disappearance of a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission in that particular area a few months ago. A recon scout sent to investigate the disappearance reported that he'd skirted close to danger in the form of a Hydra advanced recon security team."

"Seems like you're on top of things," Jess remarked.

"Up to a certain point, as last night proved. Now, I suspect that our Hydra friends from within the ranks may have gone to southeastern Germany, to an old Cold War operating facility that S.H.I.E.L.D. utilized after the Soviet Union collapsed. We stopped using it six years ago, so we didn't have it very long. Locals are convinced the facility is haunted, since apparently the Soviets did human experimentation in that facility. We saw nothing out of the ordinary," Fury said, tapping a few commands to pull up a layout of the facility in question.

"Let me guess: the facility has the biggest energy draw after years of nothing?" Steve asked, glancing up at Fury.

"And whatever Hydra is cooking there, it can't be good. What worries me the most is that the Hydra agents took four personifications," Fury said, leaning forward to minimize the map and pull up what Steve suspected to be S.H.I.E.L.D. rosters before leaving the computer to check that the hospital room door was closed.

"_What?_ Which personifications were taken?" Jess demanded.

"The two Germans, the Swiss, and the lady from Liechtenstein. Apparently, they tried to grab the darker-haired Italian twin as well, but he screamed bloody murder and they let him go out of fear of getting caught too soon," Fury said, leaning against the table.

"Which means that Ludwig would have home field advantage, correct?" Jess asked, gingerly sitting up in bed to better see Fury.

"No," Steve said, startling both her and himself. "Not quite. They were both alive when the Third Reich was around, I remember because the Commandos arrested them both at one point. Then I read online that Germany split in half after the war, into East and West Germany. Which means they would have taken a half, each, correct?" he said, glancing up at Alfred, who nodded.

"Ludwig took the western half, Gilbert took the east. When the halves reunited in 1990, there was a distinct enough identity in the population that they could share dual roles in the government. Now, on paper, they still share it, but everyone knows that Gilbert is the one causing ninety percent of the paperwork for Ludwig," Alfred explained. "Part of it has to do with the fact that Gilbert reclaimed his title of 'Prussia' about five years ago, it's a little tricky to explain. Even I'm not entirely sure since Arthur never really explained it to me…stuff happened before he could."

Steve nodded as Fury raised an eyebrow. "So then Gilbert has home field advantage. Lovely,' he said, sighing. To Steve, he said, "Your primary objective, when you go after them, will be to retrieve all and any S.H.I.E.L.D. agents out there. _Then_ retrieve the personifications. Unlike you and me, they most likely have more experience at this and can hold out longer. My agents, on the other hand, cannot hold out as long."

"But the personifications-"

"Priorities, Agent Norwood. I'm not leaving anyone behind, but my agents are humans with one shot at life," Fury said, turning back to the computer. "Cap, I was hoping you could lead this effort, maybe clean up a little Hydra while you're at it. Also figure out whose banner they're rallying under so we can put a name and face to the assailant."

"Will do, sir," Steve said, getting an idea. "Would this count as an Avengers mission?"

"Not quite, I want to keep it low profile. Maybe five people at most, I trust your judgment in selecting team members," Fury said, pulling up a program and typing a few commands in. "Jones, if you're up for it, perhaps you should head out as well, I can't imagine that Beilschmidt and Rogers parted on good terms during the forties."

"Actually, he's got a good point. If you're up for the trip, that is," Steve said, twisting around to face Alfred. "The last time I spoke to either Beilschmidt sibling, we were arranging for his release back to the Axis troops, about a month before I crashed the plane in the North Atlantic."

"That, and someone needs to make sure you don't have another flight mishap," Alfred said, grinning as he nudged Steve with an elbow.

"Wait…" Jess said, catching their attention. "I can't let you out of my sight, President's orders. You know that, Alfred," she said, frowning as she made eye contact with Alfred. "Especially on a mission like that," she said, straightening in her bed even as Alfred reached for his jacket.

"Jess, I'll clear it with the President when I get back, I-" he began, but Fury stepped forward.

"Norwood, I was hoping you would stay closer to home, I need a liaison between my officers and communications team and the personifications," Fury interrupted, discreetly nudging Alfred towards the door. "And you're not exactly in a position to pursue Jones, the doctors haven't cleared you yet for active duty again."

Neither man heard Jess's reply; Alfred nudged Steve out into the hall, where he closed the door again before walking down the hall. Steve had to jog slightly to keep up with Alfred, but could see that the other man was agitated. They walked in silence for a few minutes before Alfred finally stopped, leaning on a wall for support. "I can't let her come. I've lost four handlers, all soldiers, to a warzone. I don't want her to die too," he said quietly, glancing up at Steve. "Fury's right. They're only humans, with one shot at this, and war, even a mission like this, counts as unnecessary danger when _I can't die_." Standing up he glanced down the hall before he said, "Do you have any idea how many times I've been shredded throughout World War Two alone? Mike never approved of the risks I took, but I always took the risky assignments because I knew we needed the men elsewhere. I can resurrect myself. They can't."

"No one is blaming you, Alfred. Speak to Jess before you go, and tell her so she sees where you're coming from. I'll get a team assembled, and we meet in six hours," Steve offered, nodding back to the hospital room. He paused when he saw that Alfred still stared down the hall, as though unseeing anything around him. "Alfred?"

"Just thinking. We never found the sniper that killed Mike," Alfred said finally, turning back to Steve. "I would have liked to have had that, for closure. I talked about it with Mattie, Francis and Arthur, and we think the sniper may have been a mercenary hired to kill me. I couldn't get an idea of the sniper's nationality that day because my senses were still fucked up at the time. I couldn't even get their location." He shrugged, and then added, "But even if they were young then, they'll be old now, if not dead. So not in a position to hunt anyone anymore."

"No longer holding a grudge, then?"

"There's no point, really, not when I'm used to not getting my way on those terms," Alfred said, shrugging a shoulder. Shaking his head, he asked, "So, this strike team. Aside from you and me, who were you thinking of asking to help?"

"Probably Natasha or Clint, they're low-profile enough that no one would noticed their disappearance, but not question it if they were to disappear," Steve said, nudging Alfred back towards the room. "Go talk to her, and we'll rendezvous in six hours."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n!"

Steve laughed, aiming a fake smack in Alfred's direction before heading towards the doors. "I'm taking the car, just for that."

"Hey!"

"You haven't had a chance to ask Fury to drive his car yet, that one flies," Steve said, grinning as he turned back in time to see Alfred perk up in interest before bolting back down the hall. Twirling the car keys in his hand, he headed towards the parking lot, already thinking of where to find the two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents he had in mind for this venture.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** **Hi. Not dead, I promise, but after January (last update date, oops), things got a little difficult in real life over here for several months. I apologize about the delay. _This story is not dead! _:)**


End file.
